


Reparations: Supplemental

by Dacelin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Heaven, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prequel, Rape/Non-con Elements, Repo!verse, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin/pseuds/Dacelin
Summary: Short stories set amidstReparationsand within the Repo!verse. Missing scenes, different POVs, and past events.Updated on Fridays for as long as I keep these going.
Comments: 117
Kudos: 95
Collections: Repossession and Repo-verse Works





	1. Index and Explanation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Reparations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872380) by [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin/pseuds/Dacelin). 



**Table of Contents**

  * [Annunciation with Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317054/chapters/69382071#workskin): Crowley told the whole story of what he endured at Gabriel's hand as far as he's aware. But it seems there are more things about Gabriel which the Archangel kept hidden from everyone except the demon.
  * [Sara](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317054/chapters/69384210#workskin): Nearly 3,000 years ago, Raphael was sent on a journey of guidance and protection. But a simple-seeming task would leave him struggling for centuries after with the questions of healing and trauma.
  * **Raguel Investigates!** : Coming soon!



  


It begins at last.

I've been asked for these long before _Reparations_ was anywhere close to completed. Lots of readers wanted to know Raphael and Raguel's side of the story. And I've had a few requests for different scenes people wanted to see expanded upon or properly shown.

So, with all those being the requests, of course the first two stories I wrote have nothing to do with any of those. 

What you're looking at now is a collection of short stories set before, during, and after the events of _Reparations_. I'm excited to be writing the Repa world again and looking forward to finally answering some questions.

I don't want to answer _all_ of them, though. I've read too many sequel books which try to explain every minuscule detail from the original, and just end up hurting the original. In my continued quest to try to improve my writing, this will hopefully expand upon the original story without taking anything away from it (criticism welcome, of course).

I'm willing to write toward requests if there are things you still want to know - provided the inspiration comes along. The first couple of stories are already written, but after that, I'm curious as to what you'd like to see.

I know I've mentioned to a few people that there now exists a 'dark' ending to _Reparations_ in which things turn out very badly for Crowley. Very very badly. (It made Dreamsofspike scream, if that gives you any indication.) Is that something you'd want to see here? Or should my depravity stay hidden?

This page will serve as a Table of Contents for the stories, with brief description and direct link included. I'll tag the stories individually if any warnings apply. Most of these are more of the comfort variety than the hurt. That said... we're starting with a flashback.

Finally, there now exists something of a sequel to _Reparations_. [Reintegration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781222) by [cunzy4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunzy4/pseuds/cunzy4) is a crossover into [Descent into Perdition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096) in which the very battered and abused Gabriel from that story finds himself inexplicably transferred into the _Reparations_ universe some time after their Gabriel's execution. So far it can be read pretty well with only knowing _Reparations_ , so I encourage you to check it out to see one idea of how Heaven, especially Michael, is handling life post-trial.


	2. Annunciation with Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial is over. Heaven is striving to readjust to the new order without a prominent Archangel. And it seems Crowley still knows things about Gabriel which no one else ever suspected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to have this done in time for Christmas since it's a _little_ bit Christmas themed. But between one thing and another (extra hours at work, favor to a friend, learning do-it-yourself plumbing on Christmas Eve) it's Christmas Day and I'm just getting this finished. It's not terrifically well edited, so I'll definitely go through later, but I haven't posted in a long time, and I really-really wanted to! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the first of the Supplemental stories. This one is taking place not too long after the trial, and rapidly turns into cheery flashbacks. The usual fun and games for Crowley when Gabriel's in a mood. 
> 
> Characters: Crowley, Gabriel, Raphael, Raguel
> 
> Warning Tags: Mostly threats of violence, but there is some actual violence. Also, some art gets destroyed, and that's just a crime.

Crowley alighted in the open space just beyond Raphael’s home, struggling for a moment to find his breath and remain standing. His wings quivered wearily, and he was swift to tuck them back into the ether.

It wasn’t the length of the trip which got to him – not anymore. His body had long since healed and restored itself from the brutality he’d endured.

Physically, anyway.

Flying across Heaven alone still made him shudder with dread. 

It was one thing for the Creator **Herself** to break **Her** silence and declare Crowley welcome in Heaven. It was another thing for him to actually _feel_ welcome.

Angels whispered about him as he passed through the halls. Whispered about the trial and what had gone on before. Whispered of his uniqueness – as if they hadn’t been told in no uncertain terms that Crowley was not unique – that every demon was equally beloved as every angel.

That concept was still taking time to sink in. Until it did, it seemed simpler in Heaven’s mind to view Crowley as an outlier among demonkind. And so they whispered.

Sometimes Crowley missed the days of following silent and unnoticed on Gabriel’s heels. Then, at least, he’d been accepted and ignored by Heaven. Tamed. Controlled. They’d been able to put him into a box and a category and been done with him. 

Gabriel wouldn’t have tolerated the stares anyway. Not regarding his property.

Now Crowley flew alone by necessity. He had to establish his presence in Heaven, had to establish himself as an individual – not just hiding behind one Archangel or another. Every flight he made would make it a little easier on the next demon to enter the pearly gates.

He understood… but it didn’t banish the trembling.

 _Home again,_ he thought to himself with a quirk of his mouth as he headed for the door. It was, for the time being anyway. He wasn’t ready to make his home with Aziraphale. Or in the busy chaos of Earth. Raphael’s estate was safe. Quiet…

…full of voices.

Crowley froze in the doorway as the first strain of Raguel’s raised and agitated voice came to his ears. And hers wasn’t the only one. Multiple voices sounded from within, and they didn’t sound at all like Raphael’s team of usually subdued healers.

Crowley’s head pounded, his stomach wrenching with a sense of _violation_. That the one place he’d considered safe, a sanctuary away from the whispers, the staring, the sheer press of _strangers…_

 _I’m safe,_ he reminded himself, finding little reassurance in the words.

He wanted to turn around, slip off into the forest for whatever hours or days it took for the angels to leave. Or at least head straight up the stairs to his room. No need to see or be seen.

_It’s my home too. I’m allowed to walk in there and listen. No one will punish me. Or send me away._

Well, Raphael might. But he’d do it politely if there ever was something going on which wasn’t for any prying ears. Not that that had ever happened.

Steeling himself, Crowley crept to the door of the sitting room, hovering at the threshold.

The angels within didn’t notice him, caught up as they were in their own discussion. They were scattered in chairs around the room, few positioned in the direction of the door.

Raphael was there, of course. Raguel and Uriel as well. And several others – some of whom Crowley recognized as members of the current ruling bureaucracy. Others were strangers. 

“It’s all guesswork, and it’s not becoming any clearer,” one of the strangers was saying, frustration heavy in their voice.

“After all these months?” Raphael asked gravely.

The angel rubbed their temples. “We’re talking about centuries of information. Some of it we’ve found written down, but Gabriel must have kept more things in his head than anyone realized. Our data’s incomplete for thousands of projects dating back thousands of years. We’re running into the same problem over and over – lack of information.” They turned to Raguel. “Are you sure you’ve given us…?”

“I told you I turned over everything I seized as soon as the trial was over!” Raguel snapped, her temper well past frayed. “I’m not holding anything back. If Gabriel kept notes on all those projects, they’re not with me.”

“Aren’t they in the gallery?”

All heads snapped around, Crowley's quiet question suddenly making him the focus of everyone’s attention. 

Crowley’s knees turned to rubber. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, his eyes on the ground, his breath coming shallow and panicked.

_Not supposed to speak. Not supposed to listen…_

Raphael’s gentle tone eased through his terror. “What do you mean, Crowley?”

Crowley swallowed hard, taking the time to count to ten before raising his frightened eyes to locate the doctor. “I just meant… You probably already looked…” He glanced to Raguel. “H-he… Gabriel… kept records there. A lot of them. I don’t…” His eyes fell to the ground. “It’s probably not what you need,” he whispered in shamed conclusion. 

There was deathly and terrifying silence from the room for several long moments.

Raguel broke the quiet with her usual bluntness. “What gallery?

*****

_The blindfold lay heavy and terrifying over his eyes. Repetition of blinding did nothing to quell the fear whenever his world descended to darkness. Repetition did not equal reassurance or familiarity._

_Not when Gabriel so delighted in doing the unexpected to the slave entirely dependent upon his mercy._

_Crowley was fairly certain that he’d done nothing to warrant punishment. Careful and constant obedience was automatic these days. Absolute compliance with whatever Gabriel did to him – no matter how it hurt. Every command carried out to the best of Crowley’s abilities._

_Not that that meant he didn’t deserve pain. He was a demon. Flawed and cast out. He deserved every blow for the shame of what he was. And pain was necessary to test his obedience – to seek out any lingering defiance and mold him into the subservient being he was meant to be beneath the heels of his better._

_And sometimes pleasing Gabriel simply hurt. That was Crowley’s purpose. He ought to be grateful for the pain if it better allowed him to please his master._

_That didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified of whatever Gabriel intended._

_He’d been walking quite a long ways this time. They’d passed beyond the polished and well-traveled halls of Heaven’s offices through a quiet and carpeted region. Now the floor was stone – cold and unforgiving to his bare and tired feet._

_Early on Gabriel’s called directions had looped him about – doubling back in halls, turning sharp corners presumably just to see how promptly Crowley would obey. But orders had come less often as the long walk had continued, only directing a right or left when they reached the end of a hall._

_This was unusual. Gabriel rarely had the patience to make Crowley walk particularly far before pinning him to the ground or pressing him up against a wall. Also unusual was the heavy stack of records Crowley carried pressed protectively to his body._

_“Stop,” Gabriel called abruptly._

_Crowley jerked to a halt, holding tense and still as he felt the brush of Gabriel’s jacket against his back._

_But the Archangel merely reached past him, and Crowley heard the sound of a door sliding open. The sounds ahead turned echoey and vast as Gabriel nudged him forward._

_Crowley hadn’t gone far before Gabriel halted him again._

_The Archangel circled in front of him, reaching behind to untie the blindfold._

_Crowley blinked his disoriented eyes and focused on Gabriel’s shoes._

_The Archangel’s hand remained resting at the back of Crowley’s head, his fingers digging possessively into Crowley’s hair._

_Crowley waited for the orders to kneel and surrender himself to his master’s obvious desire._

_“I have a gift for you,” the Archangel breathed in Crowley’s ear._

_The demon trembled. “Thank you, Master?” he hazarded._

_Gabriel chuckled, his hands sliding down Crowley’s arms and retrieving the records from his grasp. “I’m going to let you behold something… very special.” He stepped to the side, gesturing to the room. “Go on. Look around.”_

_Hesitantly, certain of being ordered to the contrary at any second, Crowley lifted his eyes from the ground and glanced – first rapidly, then with much more care – around the room._

_It was a gallery. And the subject…_

_Trembling, but curious in spite of himself, Crowley crept forward, gazing across centuries of human imagination. There were paintings and murals hanging against the walls. Statues on stone pedestals and altar pieces on low tables. Stained glass windows hung backlit and gleaming in their vibrant hues._

_Some showed the annunciations – starting with Isaac and rambling through the stories. Some were of the final judgment – a prominent figure blowing his horn. Some displayed the prophets being guided by a Heavenly visitor to enlightenment. Crowley caught a few glimpses of a familiar tree in a garden, but he turned his eyes from those._

_The nativity was a frequent subject. The host singing tidings of great joy to the shepherds or gazing in adoration upon the child in the manger._

_There was a reoccurring figure in every piece._

_Centuries of art, numerous artists, hundreds of interpretations, yet that figure was unmistakable._

_Had they been altered, Crowley wondered. Were these the originals? Or duplicates of the ones found on Earth? Of those still in existence, anyway._

_The gallery wasn’t just a single room. It rambled through twists of hallways, the art evenly displayed with no rhyme or reason for why pieces were displayed next to each other. Here were Christmas cards with their repetitive and cheery art – Bethlehem often swathed in unlikely blankets of snow. Next to them would stand altar pieces of polished wood and gold leafing. Clay figures, followed by icon cards, followed by blown glass, followed by a ship mast head._

_A museum curator’s head would have exploded – both at the sheer volume of priceless art, and the utterly illogical cataloguing of it._

_Speaking of cataloguing…_

_That was the only other thing in the rooms. Shelves of files - placed between art pieces in equally illogical places. Some were old enough to be written on stone and scrolls. Some shelves held the far more modern Heavenly folders of which Crowley was woefully familiar. He averted his eyes hurriedly from those, fixing his concentration upon the art._

_“Astounding, isn’t it?” said Gabriel’s voice unexpectedly from directly behind Crowley’s shoulder, close enough for the breath of the words to raise the hair on his neck._

_Crowley managed not to jump. He kept his eyes fixed pointedly on the painting before him. “It’s a very beautiful collection, Master,” he murmured, assuming he was meant to pay compliment to the gallery at large._

_There was an air of pride in Gabriel’s voice as he spoke. “The humans come up with such ideas, don’t they? Works like these are certainly meant to keep their mind focused on the glory of Heaven, but they do come up with the strangest concept. This for example.” He waved his hand carelessly at the painting. “I’ve a hundred like it, and I’ve still never found a clear answer for why Mary’s holding a unicorn.”_

_The painting was of a walled garden, the virgin seated in the center of a ring of picturesque flowers and protective walls. In her lap curled the unicorn – that unfortunate casualty of the flood which had teased at humanity’s minds ever since. Beyond the wall, with hounds straining at their leashes and a hunting horn to his lips, a familiar violet-eyed figure was striding toward the garden gate._

_“Sacrifice,” Crowley whispered unbidden, hearing the folly in the word even as it left his lips._

_He’d not even had time to dread before he was flung into the nearest empty patch of wall, a large and powerful hand grinding his head into the stone._

_“What was that?” Gabriel demanded harshly._

_“Sorry, I’m sorry, Master!” Crowley cried out, his teeth clamping down on his lip to prevent any further outbursts or protests._

_Gabriel leaned his weight into the battered demon, his fingers digging and grinding into Crowley’s scalp. “Explain,” he ordered. “Tell me about it.”_

_Crowley fought between the terrified desire to plead for mercy and his relentless training for constant silence. He found his quivering and hesitant voice at last._

_“The unicorn,” he gasped through his closed throat. “It knows its fate. But it goes anyway. To the virgin.”_

Please don’t hurt me, _his mind screamed. He was having terrible images of what Gabriel could do should he decide to conjure a unicorn horn into existence._

_Gabriel released him so fast that Crowley crashed to the floor._

_Ignoring him, Gabriel returned to the painting, studying it with a thoughtful air. “I suppose it makes sense. In a… roundabout way. Humans are so… easily misguided.” He shook his head with a scoff. “What about the rest of it? Come here. Tell me.”_

_Crowley stayed on all fours, crawling his way to his master’s feet and kneeling there with bowed head. His mind was racing frantically, trying to remember anything about a 600 year's past art trend. He’d had it explained to him, of course. By someone who better understood the symbolism. He struggled now to formulate it into words._

_“The hunter – he’s coming to slay the unicorn. Except the unicorn… it’s being reborn. As a… a sacrifice for humanity.”_

_Did any of this make sense? Crowley had barely understood medieval iconography - and he’d had to live the entire arc of its bewildering allegorical artwork. Gabriel, so far distant and above humanity… was there a way to explain the painting which pleased him?_

_He chanced a glance upward, taking meager hope in Gabriel’s thoughtful expression._

_“I like the dogs,” the Archangel said abruptly. His hand dropped to play with Crowley’s collar. “Dogs seem… useful.”_

_Crowley shivered, holding perfectly still._

_He didn’t like to imagine what Gabriel meant._

*****

“You never mentioned this before,” Raguel grumbled as she strode toward Gabriel’s office, Crowley trotting to keep up.

He was actually somewhat taller than the stocky justice of Heaven, but no one could match her single-minded striding gait. They’d lost Raphael quite a distance behind. Unlike Raguel, angels would actually stop him for a moment of his time. And Raphael would always give it. 

“I didn’t know you didn’t know,” Crowley replied breathlessly. He’d explained all this before, but he’d noticed Raguel could be repetitive with her questions. Perhaps to see if she’d surprise out a different answer. 

He hadn’t had a lot of reason to bring up the gallery before, he’d explained to her back at the estate. It hadn’t seemed relevant to the trial, and nothing Gabriel had done to him there had been any worse than anything he’d done anywhere else.

Just another bad memory amidst two solid years of terrible ones.

Raguel halted at the office door, much to Crowley’s relief. He didn’t think he could bring himself to cross the threshold.

“You’re sure you can find it?” the justice asked.

“No,” Crowley replied truthfully. “But I can try.”

Raguel grunted in response, nodding her head in a single sharp gesture. She looked past Crowley and down the hall, her scowl deepening.

Crowley didn’t turn around. He knew what he’d see. He could feel the eyes of a dozen curious angels fixed upon him. His stomach churned, his breath coming shallow and rapid once more. He clenched his fists, willing himself not to collapse… or crawl.

Raguel eyed him, not with the fascination and revulsion of the other angels, but with a professional detachment, mixed only faintly with compassion. She raised her hands and made a series of complicated gestures.

With a puff of air, one of Raguel’s lions appeared before her. 

The lion glanced around, her fur momentarily puffed with concern and suspicion. But as her eyes locked upon Raguel, all confusion vanished. She reared onto her hindpaws, clasping the Archangel around the neck in a hug which would have felled a weaker being, her muzzle rubbing firm and affectionate against Raguel’s cheek.

The justice appeared to tolerate the fawning with steadfast detachment… except her hands were too easily finding the ticklish place beneath the lion’s chin for anyone to assume she wasn’t entirely familiar and encouraging of the gesture.

The lion dropped to all fours after a moment, twining around Raguel’s legs and purring. 

“Crowley and I need to walk without so many busybodies around,” Raguel explained seriously to the lion. “Make a hole, would you?”

The lion’s gaze swung around to the cluster of angels. Her purr vanished with a low rumble. She crept toward the angels, her body tensed and coiled to spring. With a snarl, she leaped, angels scattering down the hall as she loped after them.

Raguel met Crowley’s surprised gaze with a shrug. “They annoy me,” she said simply.

“Why are they afraid of a lion?” Crowley asked.

“They don’t know what I do to the lions to make them dangerous to celestial beings.”

“What do you do?”

Raguel winked, the ghost of a smile playing on her face. “Shouldn’t you be getting on with it?”

“Right.” Crowley took a deep breath as he pulled off his shoes. The sensation of the smooth floor on his bare feet brought back a thousand rushing memories. He pressed his hands against the wall, trying to still his whirling head.

Raphael approached, the lion capering affectionately at his side and trying hard to trip him. He gave Crowley a look of warmth and kindness. “Are you up for this?”

Crowley nodded hurriedly, forcing himself to take comfort in the presence of two Archangels and the giant cat – now batting at the laces of his discarded shoe. He snapped his fingers, a bandana materializing into his grip. With trembling hands, he tied it over his eyes, diminishing his world to the familiar and terrible darkness.

*****

_Repetition didn’t banish dread, but it did provide some familiarity. With records in his arms, and the blindfold obstructing his eyes, Crowley could make a reasonable guess as to where Gabriel was driving him._

_He just dreaded what would happen when they got there._

_No chance Gabriel just wanted to show off his artwork again. Not when his grin had been so very eager as he’d materialized the blindfold._

_Polished halls. Carpet. Stone._

_Crowley found the twists turns to be more familiar this time, at least some of it imprinted onto his mind. He’d memorized his way through the main thoroughfares of Heaven – when he could see at least. He knew the way from the silent and empty hall on which his cell sat to Gabriel’s office. And from there he could reliably locate every records’ room, supply post, and private office to which Gabriel had sent him. Failure to locate them was brutally punished, so Crowley had learned rapid memorization by necessity._

_Despite this only being the second journey to the gallery, his mind was hurriedly cataloguing as many ‘rights’ and ‘lefts’ as it could and making note of any imperfections on the floor which might clarify his location in the future._

_Once again, Gabriel opened a door ahead and brought Crowley into the echoing room. Once again, Crowley was liberated of his burden of records and the blindfold. He waited quietly as Gabriel stored the records away on a shelf near the door._

_Task completed, Gabriel came to stand behind Crowley, one hand playing idly with the feathers at the base of Crowley’s wing. He rested his other hand between Crowley’s shoulder blades. A whisper of power first banished the demon’s clothes, then flooded him with healing warmth._

_Crowley’s stomach plummeted as his current assortment of injuries vanished. “Th… thank you, Master,” he whimpered through sickening dread. This far from the cell, with Gabriel still unsatisfied and eager, there was no chance that the healing was a kindness._

_“I’ve been thinking,” Gabriel hummed, “about the hunt in the painting. You say the humans have cast me as the hunter?”_

_“Yes, Master,” Crowley whispered._

_“Well then. I suppose I’d need some dogs, wouldn’t I?”_

_The Archangel stepped into Crowley’s line of sight, making a complicated gesture with one hand._

_It only took seconds before the room was reverting with echoing yelps._

_They weren’t real dogs – none but the Creator could have made something_ real. _But they were dog-shaped. And snapping very real-looking teeth. And straining at the leashes Gabriel held in the direction of the shaking demon._

_Gabriel gazed down fondly at his creations. “Pity they won’t last long. If you’re fast, you might just outlast them.”_

_His eyes rose and locked into Crowley’s horrified and upturned gaze. “Run, Sweetheart,” he purred. “Let me see how fast the unicorn can go.”_

_Crowley stood staring blankly back at him, horror rooting him immobile to the spot. Regaining a thread of coherence, he threw himself to the ground as close to Gabriel’s feet as he could without the hounds tearing into him. “Please, Master!” he sobbed. “I shouldn’t run from you. I wouldn’t! I belong here.” He pressed his forehead to the ground. “Please… don’t…”_

_It was a half-believed truth. He did belong at Gabriel’s feet. He believed that wholeheartedly. But he would have run if he dared. If he thought he had a chance of escaping their eternal bond._

_If Gabriel hadn’t clearly intended to force him to run just to punish him for the action._

_Gabriel shortened the hounds’ leashes so sharply that the straining animals were forced onto their hind legs, their slavering lunges checked by the choking grip. Hounds shoved behind him, Gabriel stooped low enough to drag Crowley upright by the hair._

_“Run, little unicorn,” he whispered, his eyes aglow with the eagerness of the chase. “Run or I’ll unleash them right now. And I won’t call them off until they’ve severed your wings from your body. Run.”_

_Crowley ran._

_What else was there to do?_

_He pounded through the gallery, darting around the first corner he saw and running for all he was worth. Already, fear was making his lungs burn. Already every step felt leaden and agonizing._

_There was no winning this game. Nowhere to hide. The dogs would outstrip him. They’d bring him down. They’d strew the gallery with his blood, and Gabriel would punish him for damaging the art. And when the dogs had maimed him, when Gabriel had called them off and taken his reward for a successful chase from Crowley’s bleeding body, what was to stop him from healing Crowley and beginning it all again?_

_Behind, he heard the eager yelps and the scrambling of nails against the stone floor as the dogs were set loose. It would take them seconds to find his trail and pursue in earnest. Seconds after would come the teeth._

_Still he ran, taking a corner so fast that his feet skidded out from under him. He pulled himself up short just before his nose slammed into the manger piece of a full-sized nativity._

_He made it as far as his trembling hands and knees, his eyes fixing upon the wise and innocent face of the baby._

_He hadn’t been anywhere near Bethlehem that day, or anytime after. He’d been in Rome, gleefully encouraging the bureaucrats in their elaborate census project which had thrown the Roman world to grumbling and inconvenience._

_It wasn’t until long after – in a wilderness far from any town – that he’d met the baby, by then a man on his way to… Crowley hadn’t known what. Just that destiny had clung around the man, and Hell had sent him to derail it._

_It hadn’t worked, of course. Crowley might have told Hell that it wouldn't from the second he’d met the man. But he’d hung around for the full forty days, worrying about this holy man who’d so resolutely declined Crowley’s well-meant attempts to get him to just eat something._

_Crowley wasn’t sure even now if the things which had been said about the man were true, but he’d liked him. He’d never had anyone else so politely rebuff his temptation efforts. Or recognize him for what he was and still treat him like… like he mattered._

Were you really who they said you were? _he silently asked the frozen baby._ A sacrifice to save the world? So why is the fighting on every side still going on? Why are bad things still happening? Why… _He lowered his head to his hands and whispered aloud, “Why is this happening to me?”_

_He heard the shattering of something probably priceless as the dogs took the sharp corner and bore down upon him with gleeful shrieks._

Help me, _he begged of the empty face just before the teeth clamped down._

*****

It was easier to navigate once they got away from the office complex and into more silent halls. Crowley walked as hurriedly as he could, only pausing when Raguel called that there was a turn coming up. Then he’d try to work out the rights and lefts without trying to overthink his actions.

The lion was immensely helpful. Not just in banishing onlookers and clearing the way, but in nudging Crowley whenever he faltered, rubbing her head beneath his hand until he’d found steadiness in her grounding touch and could walk onward again.

Raphael was less helpful, being very alarmed to witness Crowley walking straight into walls without even trying to catch himself. He protested the activity multiple times until Raguel finally snarled at him to shut up and stay back unless Crowley actually had a breakdown.

Their bickering helped, really. Knowing they both worried and cared in their own ways. It made Crowley smile through his fear and walk onward.

He came to a sudden halt as he sensed a wall directly in front of him. “Here,” he said shakily. “This door.”

There was a long pause from the Archangels.

“Crowley,” Raphael said delicately, “there is no door.”

Crowley ripped off the blindfold, staring in horror at the blank wall in front of him. He looked around wildly. “I thought…”

Raguel stepped forward, running her fingers along the dead end. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“I…” Crowley felt the helpless shame and terror of failure rising in him. “I thought I was.”

Raguel shrugged. “Good enough.” She flicked her hand and a long sword appeared in her grasp. Without hesitation, she swung it straight at the wall.

That the wall flared up with angry protective wards was evidence that they’d stumbled upon _something._

It took two cursing and determined Archangels to break through the wards. After that, it didn’t take much to shatter the barrier, revealing a room beyond.

The lion leaped first through the gap, Raguel hurrying after her pet, and Raphael and Crowley more cautiously bringing up the rear.

Beyond, the three beings stood in silent wonder, gazing at the massive display of human imagination.

Raguel spoke first. “I knew his ego was big enough to fill a building, but I didn’t mean that literally.”

*****

“Is this everything you were looking for?” Crowley heard Raphael asking one of the angels who’d arrived once Raguel had sent her lion off with a message and directions to their new discovery.

“And more,” the angel replied in a dazed tone. “I can’t believe Gabriel could partition off this much space for his private use without anyone noticing.”

“The new council will be better watched,” another angel declared. “We’ve learned the hard way that accountability needs drastic improvement.”

Crowley wandered away, choosing halls at random until he’d better distanced himself from the angels.

The art was… disturbing. A thousand eyes of his tormentor gazing down benevolently from a thousand canvases and marble forms. Gabriel’s ghost hovered heavily over him as he walked, his arms clutched tight around his torso.

But there was more in the art than just Gabriel. Crowley’s eyes were drawn to the bewildered humans who’d suddenly found an unwelcome visitor announcing an unexpected baby. To human souls being filtered like cattle toward Heaven or Hell at the last judgment. To a woman he’d once known and liked who’d stood beside a tree and responded to his simple question of ‘why’.

It was Raphael, of course, who came looking for him at last, finding the demon standing before one of the unicorn paintings. The Archangel stood beside him, studying the work in silence.

“I prayed, I think,” Crowley said abruptly. “The last time he brought me here.” He stared at the willing sacrifice of the unicorn, finding some understanding in the creature who’d allow his own destruction at the hands of the Archangel if it meant the safety of others. “Do you… do you think **She** heard me?”

“Yes,” Raphael replied easily. 

Crowley nodded, finding little more needed saying. “What’s going to happen to the art?”

Raphael sighed. “I hate to suggest it – considering what a collection of human mastery this is – but I think it’s better we make a clean sweep of it. Eliminate any icons in Heaven as much as we can. Unless you disagree.”

Crowley shook his head.

“Here’s something else for you to decide what to do with,” Raguel announced, stalking up with her arms full of books. She dumped them on the ground in a haphazard heap. “Gabriel kept records,” she declared, disgust ringing in her tone.

“About what?” Crowley asked.

“You.” Raguel glared down at the pile. “Detailed… personal records.” She shuddered. “More of a diary, really.” Her fists clenched. “I should have found this before the trial."

“Sorry,” Crowley said quickly and automatically.

“My fault,” the justice grumbled. “I didn’t ask the right question or follow the right trail. But… we’re here now.” She looked up from the books, meeting Crowley’s gaze. “They’re about you. I think that means you decide what to do with them.”

Crowley shuddered. “Just get rid of them,” he whispered. “Nobody should know what he was planning. What he did.”

Raguel nodded curtly. “As soon as the relevant records are moved out, I’ll torch this place. No mausoleum to the unmourned.”

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured. He started for the door, then hesitated, turned back, and unhooked the unicorn painting from the wall. He shrugged at Raphael’s questioning gaze. “To remember. Answered prayers.” He glanced down at the work, then up at Raphael again. “I’ll just… cut Gabriel out of it.”

Raphael smiled. “Ready?”

With his friends beside him and a lion trotting self-importantly ahead, Crowley walked away from Gabriel’s memories.

He found himself less concerned with the stares this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Annunciation with Unicorn really was a common subject in medieval art. The unicorn is depicted laying his head in Mary's lap, his horn pointing at her womb. Mary can usually be found in a walled garden, indicating her untouched state. Gabriel and his four hounds (which are given names like 'Pax' and 'Veritas') are on their way to 'slay' the unicorn and announce the conception of the Christ child. It's a weird mix of symbolism, but that's medieval art for you. 
> 
> The painting in the chapter is not exactly the one Crowley describes in the narrative, but it was the one I could easily post. [HERE](https://www.themorgan.org/manuscript/398125) is the one I wanted to use. [HERE](https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/annunciation-with-the-unicorn-polyptych-master-of-the-annunciation-with-the-unicorn-polyptych/QgE-ocqYJcEOGg?hl=en) is one of the most famous of the pieces along with some good historical data.


	3. Sara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 3,000 years ago, Raphael was sent on a journey of guidance and protection. But a simple-seeming task would leave him struggling for centuries after with the questions of healing and trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _Book of Tobit_ was something I'd wanted to include in _Reparations_ from the start. I'd considered it being something Crowley would ask about early on while struggling to trust Raphael, or much later in with Crowley hoping for embarrassing stories about a demon prince. Unfortunately, trying to summarize it always made the scene drag. I also worried about name confusion since there's a character named Raguel, and Raphael's human name is Azariah. I thought this would be a problem during the 'where's Aziraphale?!' portion of the story.
> 
> I still wanted a chance to explore the story, so it was high on my list of supplemental pieces - even if no one else would ever ask for it. So, here we have an entire past scene entirely from Raphael's perspective.
> 
>  **Historical Context**  
>  _Tobit_ takes place around 700 BC, although that is debated. The written version is probably a compilation of several oral versions. It is considered canon in some Christian and Judaic traditions while others consider it a folktale. You can read the wiki summary [HERE](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Tobit), or the full text version [HERE](http://www.coptics.info/Bible_Study/Bible/The%20Book%20of%20Tobias.pdf). My story follows the original relatively faithfully, with all the necessary plot details -hopefully- included. I did make some changes for narrative purposes (I gave the dog more to do. Why is there a dog in the story if it doesn't do anything?!). 
> 
> The demon encounter Gabriel briefly mentions comes from a story in which Gabriel is sent to a prophet to interpret a dream, gets waylaid and beaten by a band of demons, and Michael has to do the interpreting for him. Not his finest moment.
> 
> Although he isn't traditionally so, Asmodeus will always be a serpent demon to me since I read _Redwall_ way too many times as a child. And there's something appropriate in Raphael having multiple snake demon encounters. Asmodeus is associated with lust in demonology - largely because of his actions in this story. 
> 
> For another _Good Omens_ version of _Tobit_ (from someone who did far more historical research than I did), I highly recommend [The Book of Crowley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358936) by [eag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag).
> 
> With that massive introduction out of the way, please enjoy the story!
> 
> Characters: Raphael (AKA Azariah), Gabriel, Michael, Asmodeus, Tobias, Sara, Raguel (a human one), and a dog  
> Warning Tags: Attempted rape, violence, PTSD, victim blaming, misogyny

“How long has it been since you visited Earth?”

Raphael glanced sideways at the Archangel walking beside him through the halls of Heaven. “It’s… been a while.”

The look of concern in Gabriel’s eyes grew. “You didn’t handle it well before, as I recall.”

Raphael closed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists as memories and emotions bubbled to the surface. “No,” he admitted weakly.

“Do you want me…”

“ **She** commanded this.” The words came out sharper than Raphael intended. “It has to be me.” He halted, taking several long breaths. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.

Gabriel shrugged as if it made no difference, though a flicker of annoyance warred briefly on his face. “Who am I to question **Her** will?”

Raphael resumed walking, his jaw set tight. “What’s it like down there? Now?”

“Not much different than the last time you were there, most likely. Humans are born, stumble about for a few decades of making a mess of things, and eventually die. Occasionally a halfway intelligent one requires our attention. Beyond that, the planet spins. Seasons change. Demons make the world as miserable as possible. Nothing changes.”

Raphael looked at his companion with a sudden rush of concern. “Are you alright? I heard about your brush with…”

“I’m fine!” Gabriel snapped. He lengthened his strides, rapidly outdistancing the healer.

Raphael grimaced. Clearly the rumors of Gabriel’s unfortunate encounter with a band of demons were accurate. And apparently not to be discussed.

They’d reached the ladder leading down to Earth. An angel from the observation team was there, tripping over themselves with eagerness to help Raphael into an appropriate corporation appearance for the region and corresponding garments.

“Good luck,” Gabriel said, a slight smirk in his voice which sounded suspiciously like a hope that Raphael would fail. “Try not to incinerate any humans. And if you run into a demon, smite before they call reinforcements.”

“I hope to avoid lethal force.”

Gabriel scoffed. “They’re only good dead.” He stalked away.

Raphael took a deep breath and lowered himself out of Heaven for the first time in centuries.

It was a long ladder. Very long. Plenty of time to think.

To dread.

The first dozen rungs passed away easily. Nothing seemed to change. Still the soft peace of Heaven surrounding him in its comforting warmth. It receded gradually, still inviting and near. Just a few rungs away should he need to rush back into the embrace.

But gradually a heaviness grew around him. The more oppressive reality of Earth. The sheer volume of living and suffering souls on the move below him.

He could feel Azrael’s hand as he drew closer. The swift and soft shadow which ended all suffering and left lamentations behind.

Pestilence at her work in one land, War riding through a dozen more. Famine rode in tandem with them both – the slower agony of distended bellies and parched cries for sustenance.

Raphael halted, clinging fast and shaking with the swamping pain of it all. “No…” he whispered, a simple plea, a single moan of agony.

He couldn’t… couldn’t enter into this again. It had nearly broken his mind before. And now there was even more. Sorrow and suffering multiplying exponentially.

“I can’t,” he gasped in prayer. “Please, I can’t. Don’t make me…”

But he’d been summoned. His Creator’s mouthpiece arriving at his door with orders in hand. 

_Find the boy,_ he coached to himself. _Set him on his path. Heal the father, protect the girl._

_Tobit, Tobias, Sara. Tobit, Tobias, Sara._

He chanted the names as he descended the rungs, making them all-consuming in his mind. Push the rest away. Push the suffering of the others away. These were the three he’d been sent to find. These were the three who mattered.

Just… forget about everyone else screaming for his aid. 

*****

Tobias was a bit of an idiot.

It probably wasn’t his fault. Raphael suspected any human he’d been coupled with would have seemed like a simpleton by his own standards.

But Tobias… 

It had been foreboding when his own mother had taken Raphael aside to warn him about her son before allowing them to set off on their journey.

“He’s a _good_ boy,” she’d insisted, putting emphasis on the word along with a purse of her lips which implied she had a very different word in mind. “But he needs… looking after. He’s never left the city before. If we didn’t need the money so badly…”

Raphael had assured her of his loyalty and protection.

He’d assumed at first that it was his own angelic nature which had made Tobias blindly approach him to ask if he’d like to accompany the young man on a journey to collect debts owed to his father in a distant city. Until then, Raphael had just been wandering aimlessly through the city of Nineveh without the least idea as to how to even begin finding the people he’d been sent to watch over. The Creator might have called him to the task, but step-by-step instructions for its completion had been woefully lacking. Tobias’ approach had seemed like divine intervention, and Raphael had agreed immediately to accompany him.

Now, after a few days in the young man’s company, he’d come to realize that Tobias was blindly trusting of virtually anyone, and if divine intervention had been involved in bringing them together, it was to prevent the young man from immediately revealing to every bandit in the city that he was setting off in search of fortune and utterly lacking basic survival skills.

His little dog had far better sense than his owner, and more Earth knowledge than Raphael possessed. The Archangel found himself abundantly grateful for the dog’s ability to find water, safe campsites, and warn off strangers with a snarl as the days of the journey progressed.

The journey was made on foot – not that Raphael thought camels or donkeys would have carried them any swifter. Transportation did not seem optimal in this place and time. How did humans manage without wings?

At least Tobias was decent company. If one knew nothing of Earth and didn’t mind someone who talked constantly. And he accepted Raphael’s utter ignorance of human history and culture without blinking.

“My parents moved to Nineveh after the Babylonian exile,” he explained when the subject of family histories emerged early on. “My father tried to follow the law… even when he wasn’t sure what it was.”

Tobit was the father, and elderly by this point in time. Infirmed and on his deathbed as far as anyone knew.

Raphael could have healed him at a touch, but his orders were specific to leave the old man alone. At least for the time being.

“What happened to him?” he asked Tobias.

“The droppings of an unclean bird fell in his eyes and made him blind and sick,” the young man replied with certainty.

Raphael gave up trying to explain that that wasn’t medically logical. 

Tobias believed steadfastly in a cause and effect. Adherence to the law brought prosperity (despite his impoverished status). Violating the law, even unintentionally, brought disastrous consequences.

Raphael was an angel. He could heal at a touch, and he believed in miracles because he could perform them. But he was also a healer, and he’d been studying bacteria, fungai, and viruses from the moment Pestilence had been unleashed into Creation. To find humanity so willfully ignorant – after this many centuries – and so blindly following superstition as the source of all pain and salvation was baffling.

 _Can’t you believe in both?_ he wondered, finding no answer in the ramblings of his young charge, or the other humans they camped with at night.

“You don’t believe demons cause all our suffering, Azariah?” Tobias asked curiously after listening to Raphael try unsuccessfully to explain to a fellow camper that, yes, boiling water was good, but, no, it had nothing to do with banishing the spirit of the water demons.

“I think you’ll find most things in the world can be better explained if you use your senses to find an explanation than simply assuming everything is the work of evil spirits,” Raphael replied wearily.

Tobias gave him a look of polite doubt. But he did occasionally ask for Raphael’s interpretation of why things happened after that. Even if he seemed to do so more out of politeness than any skepticism in the teachings he’d been raised with.

Raphael had little time to muse over the ignorance of humans.

Mostly he was hard-pressed to keep Tobias from making friends with any and every possible bandit they encountered, and protecting him – mostly from himself.

“The fish would have swallowed me whole! If it hadn’t been for Azariah!” 

The men Tobias gushed his story to eyed the fish dubiously and tried to suppress their snickers at the young man’s insistence that he owed Raphael his life.

It certainly was a large fish. And if it had succeeded in sinking its teeth into Tobias’ foot as the young man dangled his feet into the water, it could have become infected and led to death. But Raphael hastily pulling Tobias out of the way and then assisting him with beaching the fish hardly seemed like heroics. 

At least it endeared his companion to him, and there was something adorable in Tobias’ blind confidence in Raphael’s ability to lead them to their destination.

“We should take the entrails and internal organs with us,” Raphael suggested, gritting his teeth at how very easy it was to lie to the guileless face. “It’s a very powerful… medicine. It could… banish unclean spirits.”

“Do you think it could cure my father? If demons are causing his illness?”

“If you’re faithful to your task and do as you’re told, perhaps your father’s health will be restored.”

Raphael tried to sound all-knowing and mysterious. He didn’t enjoy the falsehoods he was telling – from a fabricated knowledge of superstitious cures, to an entire genealogy and name which was in no way his own. But his orders had been clear. The young man had to prove himself worthy of aid. There had to be some form of quest – a test of his faithfulness.

For lack of a better quest, Raphael made it the preservation of fish organs.

At least the smell might drive a few bandits away.

*****

“He seems like a fine young man,” the homeowner said, though the dubious way his eyes trailed over Tobias said something different. “My kinsman Tobit’s son, you said?”

“Yes,” Raphael replied, hoping desperately that the man – Raguel by name (of all names!) – wouldn’t ask for details of precisely how they were related. Raphael couldn’t keep his own fabricated history straight, let alone Tobias’, which had contained far too many deviations into lengthy storytelling when Tobias tried to explain it. 

Not that Raguel seemed particularly concerned. “Any kin of mine is welcome in this home. Please be my guests for as long as you reside in this city. Consider my home, and all in it, as your own.”

It took a little while for Raphael to conclude that Raguel’s words were more formality than meant to be taken literally. And that Raguel had an agenda.

“Unmarried, you say? At your age? Surely your father has considered a betrothal for you to someone in your own land.”

“Most of the people in our land don’t properly follow the old laws,” Tobias replied sadly. “My father doesn’t want to connect me to an unfaithful house.” He gave Raguel a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you know of any honorable families with eligible daughters? I still have to fetch the money my father sent me to collect before I could afford a wife, but my father would die happy if I came back with both a wife and the money.”

A shadow – a desperation – passed through Raguel’s eyes. When he spoke, his voice was eager and jovial, but his eyes radiated fear. “Eligible girls from honorable houses? You need look no further than this home, young man. My daughter is of perfect age. And such arrangements are best kept among family, aren’t they? We are of the same people. We should be united even closer. And she is my only child. You would receive much if you took her as your own.”

Raphael frowned, trying to make sense of these bewildering human customs. He was having trouble with the concept of money – mostly in the idea of buying and selling a human woman as if she was a sack of grain. And the idea that both these men would consider it advantageous to procreate with family members… He lost of the thread of the conversation for several minutes.

“…such a fine young woman. Virtuous and perfect in every way,” Raguel was saying when Raphael finally reengaged his mind. “Her name is Sara.”

Sara. The third human.

 _Protect the girl,_ the message had said.

From what? Tobias? He could barely bring himself to kill a fish.

But why did Raguel speak so rapidly as if not wanting to give Tobias a chance to think or refuse? Why did his eyes strain with anxiety?

…Why was the backyard filled with graves?

That little detail Raphael stumbled upon accidentally while trying to get a break from Raguel’s over-enthusiastic chatter. One door had led unexpectedly outside, and there he’d found a garden…

…filled with dirt mounds.

He studied them for a long time, trying to fathom multiple reasons for these human-sized lumps. Last he’d heard, humans in this region still buried their dead that way. But maybe it was for a plant reason? Or burying valuables?

He tried to push away the sense of foreboding as being nonsense. But he also kept Tobias far away from the garden.

*****

“Do you think I should marry his daughter, Azariah?” Tobias asked as they walked through the city of Medes. 

Raphael had made their excuses and taken Tobias out to talk away from the household’s prying ears. 

“She’s from my family line,” Tobias mused. “And it would make Father and Mother happy. If she’s the right sort of girl.” He glanced back the way they’d come. “Do you suppose I might see her before I make up my mind?”

“Looks aren’t important,” Raphael said tactfully.

“No… But they don’t hurt,” Tobias replied with a guileless seriousness. He glanced thoughtfully at the women of the city as they walked. “What’s most important is her character, of course. Father and Mother will want her to be the right sort of girl – the kind people don’t talk about. Maybe we could ask someone about her and see if they know about her.”

Raphael’s mind was still tumbling through the reoccurring human confusions. ‘Looks’ he sort of understood, but ‘gender’ was a concept he was utterly shaky on, and why humans had different standards for males and females, and didn’t seem to consider the broader spectrum was absolutely bewildering. 

Caught up in the puzzling, Raphael found the words to suggest that perhaps Tobias should stop taking the advice of every random stranger only after Tobias had trotted up to the nearest merchant to ask if he knew anything about the House of Raguel.

“Heard of them? Everyone knows about _them_!” the merchant was saying too loudly and too eagerly for it to be anything but horrible news as Raphael rushed belatedly forward to reclaim his charge.

Raphael reached out a hand to grip Tobias’ shoulder and pull him away, but it was far too late for a diversion like that. The boy was engrossed.

“You’ve heard of his daughter? Sara? Is there something to know about her?”

“Is there?” The merchant leaned forward. “Everyone knows about it, but nobody’ll say it out loud. Bad luck. You might curse yourself.”

“Curse?” Tobias and Raphael uttered in one breath.

The merchant leaned even closer. “They say,” he breathed, “that she’s married already.”

“What?!” Tobias squealed. “But her father said she was untouched!”

“That she might be,” the merchant replied, his eyes gleaming. “The men never get a chance to touch her.”

“What do you mean?”

“The father comes through town a year or so ago, you see? Proud as can be for the match he’s made for his daughter. The wedding’s celebrated. But… nothing comes after the wedding.”

“After?” Tobias asked blankly.

“No wedding night. Not for the husband anyway.” The merchant lowered his voice again. “I heard… they found him stabbed. Torn apart as if wild animals had done him in. The whole room drenched in blood. And the girl? Sound asleep in the bed. Quiet as can be. Untouched.” He nodded significantly. “Or at least, that’s how it appeared.”

Tobias blinked blankly. “But was she or wasn’t she? Did something hurt her too?”

“No, no. Not a mark on her. Not even the ones there should have been after her wedding night, if you know what I mean.”

Tobias clearly did not.

Raphael didn’t enlighten him. “It doesn’t pay to heed idle gossip,” he said sharply. “And you shouldn’t be spreading rumors about a respectable family.”

“Respectable?” The merchant spat. “Nothing respectable about letting your daughter get wed to a demon.”

“A demon?” Raphael and Tobias chorused once more.

“That’s what people say. What else could it be? They bring men to her. They’re wed. In the morning, the man – dead. The girl – asleep and innocent as a newborn lamb. But is she? Does she have a demon husband to play with in the night?” He nodded significantly. “Maybe she’s the one tearing apart the husbands. Maybe she ruts about in their blood and feasts on their flesh. Not the sort of bride any respectable man from these parts would ever want to have.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Raguel will never be rid of the cursed girl at this rate.”

Raphael strengthened his grip on Tobias’ shoulder and tugged. “Let’s be away from here. This is no place for you. Not listening to this… nonsense.”

The merchant was still laughing cruelly as they hurried away.

“You said there’s explanations for everything, didn’t you Azariah?” Tobias asked in a wavering voice. “There’s an explanation for this, isn’t there?”

Raphael’s stomach rolled in unpleasant ways – doubly so since he wasn’t the least bit used to having a stomach. “Several. The first and most likely is that that man is a gossip and a liar.”

“But if… if the girl is a murderer…”

“She isn’t,” Raphael said firmly. “I’m sure of that.”

“Oh.” Tobias breathed a sigh of relief, then looked uncertain. “All the same… She doesn’t seem like the sort of girl Father would approve of. I mean, you said there were logical explanations, didn’t you? So perhaps the demon talk isn’t true. But it’s still not right for a girl to be mixed up with anything like… that.”

“If she has had horrible things happen around her,” Raphael said tightly, “that doesn’t make it her fault.”

“Doesn’t it? Girls ought to be modest and unassuming all the time. They shouldn’t attract any attention.”

Raphael stopped and turned on Tobias with a darkening frown. “You wanted her to be pretty,” he said sharply.

Tobias took a step back, stuttering without properly answering.

“So you want her to have the appearance to be noticed, but you blame her if someone notices her?”

Tobias backed even further from his companion. “I just don’t want a wife with a… reputation.”

Raphael began walking again, now moving purposefully back toward the house with Tobias struggling to catch up. “If the two of you go back to Nineveh after the wedding, no one will know anything about her except what you and she choose to share. Whatever tragedy has happened here will stay here.”

Tobias trotted beside him, frowning thoughtfully. “I’d rather not be murdered, if it’s all the same,” he said at last.

Raphael smiled thinly. “Let’s learn a little more before you make up your mind about the wedding.”

*****

Sara was pretty according to Tobias’ standards. 

She also spoke intelligently and showed off good manners, also according to Tobias.

Raphael still wondered about the different standards. But he didn’t let it bother him. There were other things bothering his mind.

The most obvious was the desperate and hunted look lingering in the girl’s eyes. One even she didn’t seem aware of.

Raguel had been quick (frantic, really) to dismiss the rumors Raphael hinted at. Just idle gossip, he insisted. Yes the girl had been betrothed – seven times as a matter of fact. But the marriage had never been consummated.

That was the part he seemed most concerned with.

Not the panicked look in Sara’s eyes when her father announced her upcoming nuptials. 

Not the way the mother fled the room weeping.

Not when Raphael slipped out to the backyard and counted seven human-sized mounds in the garden.

Convincing Tobias to go through with the marriage had not been hard.

“If you’re certain there’s no danger…” he’d said in whispered conference with Raphael, having utterly missed any signs of something being amiss in the household.

Wealth and a pretty wife had clouded his hazard avoidance skills.

Not that he’d had many of those to begin with.

It wasn’t the most promising way to start a marriage.

Still, Tobias was harmless as far as Raphael could tell. Shy, really when it came to women. His focus on appearance and what his parents would want seemed more because he had no real understanding of females as more than an abstract concept.

“How do I talk to her?” he whispered frantically to Raphael before dinner.

“Same way you do any person,” Raphael replied.

Tobias’ eyes widened. “You can talk to a girl like… like a regular person?”

The Archangel felt further confused. “You had no difficulty speaking to your mother.”

“That’s different. She’s… Mother. This is… a girl.”

“With a name. And a history. And likes and dislikes. Try talking about those.”

It was adorable, really. Two immensely awkward young people sitting with their heads bowed, barely managing eye contact, directing more of their conversation to Tobias’ dog than to each other.

By the time the wedding papers were signed, they'd barely managed a tentative smile at one another, which vanished into open apprehension at the sight of the wedding chamber.

Their retirement for the night didn’t happen immediately. Raguel monopolized Tobias abruptly and took him off to talk very swiftly and very jovially about what a wonderful son-in-law Tobias would surely make along with quite a lot of other frantic and nervous talk.

Raphael took the time to approach Sara.

“Congratulations,” he said for a start. 

Sara glanced at him, a forced smile on her lips. But there was that haunted look deep in her eyes. Veiled – as if the terror wasn’t quite something she was aware of feeling. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Raphael shuffled awkwardly. Maybe Tobias had been right about how difficult conversation was to start. How did one ask casually about seven mutilated bodies in a wedding chamber? 

“I heard your name before I started out on my journey,” he said suddenly and as truthfully as he could manage.

Sara’s eyes widened in horror.

Raphael continued gently before she could flee. “I was told… you might be in need of assistance. Protection.” He waited a beat, trying to make his voice as kind and soft as he could. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Sara stood poised for flight for a moment, then settled slightly, now scrutinizing him suspiciously. “Where did you hear such a thing?” she demanded with a voice hovering somewhere between a challenge and tears.

Raphael considered. If this had been Tobias, he might have said something vague and that would have been the end of it. But there was something different in Sara’s eyes. Not exactly knowing – but more worldly. Someone who’d endured something which made her see reality in harsh colors and distrust friendly the words of a stranger. 

Something that made him want to tell her the truth.

“From one who hears and answers cries for deliverance,” he said at last.

The girl took a swift step closer, searching his face with a desperate intensity. It still took her a very long minute to speak. When she did, her voice was filled with the hesitation of one who didn’t know how to begin and didn’t expect to be believed. “Do you,” she said slowly, “believe in dreams?”

Raphael had never dreamed. It was another human concept he didn’t fully grasp, even if he understood the bodily mechanics. But he understood that humans put more stock into dreams than just random firings of the brain. And he’d heard from the other Archangels that dreams were immensely useful for prompting human actions.

Gabriel was particularly fond of them. He said it was easier to flood humans with fear or desire when they were helpless to resist.

Raphael didn’t find such talk to be entirely comfortable. He’d said as much, but had been told that since sending messages and visions weren’t his function, he should butt out and not tell someone else how to do their job.

At this moment he wished he’d paid better attention.

“What sort of dreams are you having?” he asked.

Sara glanced around the room, then spoke in a hush. “Nightmares.” She said it as if that explained everything.

It didn’t. “Do you remember them?” Raphael asked.

Sara struggled, and it wasn’t just as if she was struggling to recall half-forgotten images. Or as if she couldn’t find the words. It was as if…

Raphael reached out and placed a hand on her arm. It was too forward he knew. One of the human rules seemed to be that one didn’t touch strange females while wearing a male corporation. 

Sara leaped back almost at once, equally aware of the decorum breach. 

But it had been enough. Enough contact for Raphael to _feel_ that something was horribly wrong. 

He took a step back, holding up his hands in a silent apologetic gesture. 

Sara kept her distance, a wariness in her stance which had nothing to do with a simple touch. She covered the place his hand had rested with her own, clutching her arm protectively as if she’d been wounded. 

Raphael dipped his head. “Sleep well tonight,” he said quietly. “No harm will come to you.” He left her hurriedly before his presence could cause her further stress.

Extracting Tobias from Raguel took all his angelic patience but at last he got Tobias alone into a corner. “How are you feeling?”

The boy chewed his lip. “She’s nice,” he admitted. “I think I like her. As a person, I mean. Like you said. But…” He looked up, his expression troubled. “Do you think there’s any truth to the rumors? About her husbands dying? Raguel wouldn’t say when I asked.”

“Whether there is or isn’t, you’re perfectly safe with her,” Raphael said with certainty. “If you’ll do as I say.”

*****

The door of the wedding chamber slammed shut behind the couple with a blow of finality. 

Tobias and Sara stood awkwardly just inside the door, both pairs of eyes glued to the bed with rising alarm.

“I suppose…” Sara said slowly with open dread.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” Tobias said hurriedly.

Sara looked sharply at him.

Tobias was very red. “I mean… we just met. And I know… this is… expected. But… maybe…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkward, his whole body hunched and uncomfortable.

“Have you heard things about me?” Sara demanded.

“No! I mean… yes… But that’s not what I meant!” Tobias looked entirely frantic. He stuttered helplessly, then whispered to her at last. “I’ve never… you know.”

“You haven’t?”

“No.” Tobias was growing even redder, if that was possible. “And… and Azariah said that even if everyone expects us to… you know…”

“Consummate the marriage,” the girl prompted with a bluntness that made Tobias blush further.

“…Yes,” he gasped at last. “H-he said it wasn’t necessary. The first night. Or for a few nights. That talking and… getting to know each other is good first. Th-that we’re not violating the law or anything. Not to… not to wait a little while. If… if that’s alright with you.”

Sara exhaled a breath which rang heavily of relief. “I think it would be nice to… know a person first. We have our whole lives together, don’t we?”

Relieved, the children seated themselves on the bed, facing one another with more confidence now that they’d established no need to become intimate before either of them felt the least bit ready.

“I wonder,” Sara said slowly, “if you could tell me about where we’re going? Your home. Your family. All of that. I… don’t know anything about you.”

Tobias frowned. “That isn’t right at all, is it? Us being married forever and you not even knowing my father’s name. And I don’t know anything about you. Besides rumors. And a husband shouldn’t listen to those, should he? Should listen to his wife first. Always. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Sara scrutinized Tobias’ guileless face, seeming to read something in his innocence that appealed her. She relaxed visibly.

“Oh!” Tobias lunged to his feet abruptly. “Before we talk, I should…” he fumbled blindly for the bag at his belt.

Sara tensed, watching in evident bafflement as Tobias extracted something half rotted from his pouch and tossed it into the fire.

The flames gutted, then consumed whatever it was eagerly. An acrid smoke wafted through the room.

“It’s to drive away demons, you know,” Tobias explained confidently as he returned to the bed. “They don’t like that smell.”

“Oh,” Sara said faintly. A shadow crossed her face – first fear, then unsteady hope. “Do you really think that works? Something so simple?” 

“Azariah said it would. If we really believe,” Tobias replied, nodding to himself. He hesitated. “Maybe… we should pray? That would help too, wouldn’t it?”

Two children who’d been thrust together into a contract neither felt the least bit ready for clasped hands and prayed for protection. For clarity. For fate to run smooth.

*****

Becoming invisible to human eyes was no trick. Effortless, really. Human minds weren’t particularly able to grasp the supernatural. It was the easiest thing to simply tell them to ignore what they saw and heard.

The dog was another matter. It kept nosing at Raphael’s feet, wagging its tail and asking for pets while the Archangel stood guard over the quietly talking children.

Raphael put a hand on the dog, whispering a miracle to make it vanish from their sight and hearing as well. Then he allowed himself to engage in a thorough belly-rub of the affectionate creature.

“You’ll watch over them with me?” he asked. 

The dog wagged its tail and settled at the Archangel’s side. They stayed well away from Tobias’ pacing as the boy added the fish entrails to the fire. The smell made the dog sneeze, but the humans didn’t hear. They were otherwise engaged in their fervent prayers.

The prayers had barely begun when the dog rose to its feet, growling softly, its eyes fixed on the window.

Raphael drew himself deeper into the corner, shielding his power and presence and whispering the dog to silence. Something was moving outside. Up the wall. Against the window ledge…

A serpentine form slid through the window, pooling onto the floor and rising into a humanoid shape. Not quite human. No human had such talons or a softly whipping tail.

The entity sniffed the air, nose wrinkling. “What the Hell is that supposed to do?” he muttered, eying the fire with distaste.

“A ward against demons,” Raphael replied sharply.

The demon whirled, showing off a mouth of glistening fangs. “Where did you come from?” he demanded. “This is my hunting territory.”

Raphael stepped forward, the little dog growling at his side. “Not anymore.”

The demon sized him up, chuckling. “Fool angel. Did they send you all alone? Or did you stumble into this by accident. Did you really think you could fight me? Alone?”

He dispensed with human form, growing larger and more reptilian. Spikes and scattered plumage sprouted from amidst metallic scales. His mouth opened wide enough to make short work of a still-human angel.

Raphael gaze up at him, silent and still. He didn’t back down, didn’t allow any fear to show. 

_Why did you send me?_ he whispered to the Voice which heard all… and rarely answered. _I’m no fighter. This is warrior’s work. Why wasn’t Michael called? Or Raguel? Anyone but me._

Yet here he was. Staring up at an archdemon who was fully prepared to battle for possession of the human girl.

“Why her?” Raphael demanded. “The world is full of humans. Why this one?”

The demon shrugged. “Why not? She amuses me. And her father’s a weak-willed creature. Easily compelled. Any sensible man would have stopped marrying her off after the first death. The second at most. But a nudge from me, and he just continues to cover up the bodies - claims they’ve gone off on long journeys or other such nonsense - and goes hunting for a new son-in-law.” The demon licked his lips. “I think he likes it, in truth. Her remaining unmarried. Him not having to share his wealth with some upstart who will take it all from him upon his death.” He chuckled. “I think he’d give me the girl’s soul to prolong his own life. Should I suggest it?”

“Her soul belongs to herself,” Raphael said shortly. “It isn’t anyone’s to give away or steal. You’ve no claim on her.”

“None?” The demon eeled around him, scales rasping against the floor.

Raphael forced himself to remain still, even as the demon passed behind his back.

The dog, meanwhile, barked a great deal and leaped up and down without apparently any further plan beyond that.

“I had claim enough on her when I held her down that first time in the blood of her first husband and took from her what she was so unwilling to give.” The demon chuckled, amused and malicious. “Her own blood flowed with his that night. Such a pretty pattern on the floor. And her screams. How beautifully she screamed.” He sighed with the memory. “And after. She was so sweet curled up and crying in my arms. Kind of me really – tucking her in afterwards. Making it all go away. The pain. The memories. Nothing but pleasant dreams until her family awoke her in the morning.” He sighed again, now with regret. “I would have liked to have seen them when they found that first body. They weren’t nearly so amusing the second time.” He purred with pleasure. “But she is always amusing. It’s always her first time.”

The demon leaned close, his breath hot on Raphael’s cheek. “Tell me, do you _really_ wish to stop me? Such a fuss over one human. If I’m playing with her, I’m not causing trouble elsewhere. Isn’t that worth it to your bureaucracy? One less demon ‘fermenting evil’ or whatever you call it. Or maybe…” He ran a talon down Raphael’s neck. “…you’d like to play with a nice toy as well?”

Sudden heat flooded Raphael. Heat which rushed through him, stirring sensations in his blood that he’d never felt before. Pieces of his corporation which he’d put very little _effort_ into suddenly felt vibrantly alert and relentlessly needy. He doubled over, a cry of what might have been pain or something else, escaping his lips.

“The girl’s mine,” the demon purred, his voice following Raphael as the Archangel’s body bent low. “But the boy… he needn’t die. I’ll show you how to have some fun with him. Afterwards, we give them dreams of what they’ve done with each other. They can go on their way. Still alive. That will please those who sent you, yes? And we will go with them.” 

Hungry and grasping hands encircled him, drawing him close whether he wanted it or not. 

“Mmm, you smell of Heaven,” the demon murmured longingly. “How beautiful it was.”

“You… you were one of us once,” Raphael gasped hoarsely, barely finding his voice through the trembling pants assailing his corporation.

“Yes. Back before the divide.” The demon’s voice hummed with genuine regret.

“You don’t have to be like this,” Raphael choked out. “Giving in to your demonic desires.”

The creature laughed. “You think this is demonic? Sweet, little angel.” He whispered in Raphael’s ear. “I always felt want. Desire. And I wasn’t alone.” He drew back, smirking serpentine eyes watching the Archangel’s struggles with amusement. “And the funniest part? Not all who felt like me are on my side now. You’ll find plenty in your own gilded halls who’d be just as eager to indulge themselves.”

“That’s a lie!” Raphael said sharply, forcing himself to stand upright.

The demon released him for the moment, laughing softly to himself. “Believe what you’d like, little angel. Now. Will you play with me and save the boy? Or will this unfortunate family have two bodies to bury in the morning?”

“Neither.” A ripple ran through Raphael’s corporation as he gathered up all the suddenly awakened wants and desires and buried them deep where they’d bother him no longer. He planted himself between the bed and the demon. “They’re under my protection now. Leave this place. Never harm them again.”

The demon sighed. He unfurled himself still further, growing even larger in appearance. “So be it. Business before pleasure, as they say. Very well, little angel. Vanquish me if you must. The attempt is always entertaining. And I do so hate to be bored.”

“I know you,” Raphael said slowly.

“Do you now?”

“They call you Ashmedai. Asmodeus. Prince of Hell. Archdemon of the highest order. I’ve heard you’ve claimed to be the king of demons.”

The demon smirked. “Guilty. Grandeous titles are amusing, aren’t they not?”

“Does Lucifer know of your claims?”

“Lucifer hardly cares what I do so long as it doesn’t interfere with _him_.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ruling Hell keeps him too busy to notice what I’m doing on Earth.”

“So… if you were to… disappear for a while… Hell’s hardly going to mind or notice?”

The demon looked pleasantly surprised. “Do you have a plot in mind? Perhaps I underestimated you. Go on, little angel. But, first perhaps you’ll do me the honor…” He bowed mockingly. “…of introducing yourself? I do so hate to murder strangers.”

Now was the time for theatrics, and Raphael didn’t disappoint. Six wings sprouted from his back, his human corporation burning with celestial brightness. 

Asmodeus fell back, the pleasant amusement shifting to a look of fear, rapidly replaced with defiance. “So,” he hissed, “the healer wishes to get his hands dirty. So be it.” He launched himself at Raphael.

Inside the room, the two humans finished their prayers and settled upon the bed, talking quietly together as the night passed on. 

Inside the room, the dog galloped in frantic circles, barking madly and biting at the demon wherever opportunity presented itself. 

Inside the room, an Archangel and archdemon wrestled together in a whirl of wings and claws, unseen by human observation.

There were rules to this plane of existence. They both wore of the corporations of Earth, and though they’d shown off truer appearances, they were limited by the forms which caged them. Forms that had skin which could tear and bones which could break. 

Asmodeus was all tricks and swiftness. It wasn’t hard to see that he’d risen in Hell’s ranks through strength and brutality. He had experience on his side. He sought for every weakness, gave no quarter, permitted no breather. He was out to win, and he’d fought enough to know how to make a body discorporate.

Raphael was the stronger. They both knew that from the moment the battle began. But he was no fighter. It was challenge enough for him just to keep from being pinned down and destroyed.

Asmodeus drove him up against the wall, talons shredding clothing and skin. “Pity,” he hissed. “If you’d really been a weakling angel, I might have given the girl a night off. Taken you for playing instead. But being who you are…” He seized Raphael’s swinging arm and pinned it to the wall. “…I can’t take that chance.”

Raphael writhed hard, pushing against the demon’s chest with his free hand. He slid sideways, sinking toward the floor under the crushing weight. “You won’t touch her tonight,” he grunted. “Or ever.”

With a sudden yank of his body, he plunged his free hand into the fire.

It hurt. The corporation was human, after all. But he grasped for the coals anyway, whispering over them as he thrust the handful into Asmodeus’ face.

Fish liver was not a demon deterrent by any stretch of the imagination. But belief was. Belief fueled by prayers fueled by the power of an Archangel.

A combination of those had wrought a change on the coals.

It was pure celestial fire which Raphael thrust into the demon’s face.

Asmodeus shrieked in agony, rearing back and clawing at the embers, which ate at his corporation with hungry abandon.

Raphael threw his full weight into the demon, sending them both out of the window and into the garden below.

The fight continued among the secreted graves of Asmodeus’ victims. The demon tore up furrows of earth in his writhing and desperation, but Raphael had the upper hand now. He pinned the demon down, summoning chains into existence which he wrapped around the demon’s arms and neck. His captive bound, he took wing and soared into the night.

*****

In the morning, the household was in an uproar. Partially because the garden looked like the scene of a stampede. Partially because the dog was found blissfully chewing on something which looked like that hacked off tail of a giant snake. And mostly because Sara emerged from her wedding chamber with her husband alive and well.

Tobias’ friend was absent for several days, leading to ample speculation among the household. But when he reappeared, everyone realized they’d had no reason for puzzling. He had, it seemed, simply gone ahead to collect the money owed to the boy and now returned with money and animals for their return to Nineveh. 

The journey back was conducted swifter now that they carried plentiful wealth with them. At least Tobias was otherwise preoccupied and no longer talked of his journey in too much detail to anyone who walked with them. 

Raphael watched Sara with scrutiny as they traveled. The way she bore herself with gravity and confidence… right up until nightfall. Then in the flickering twilight, he saw the wavering of the mask she wore. The way rough laughter made her tense and rapid gestures made her flinch. The way she shuddered when anyone sat too near – even harmless Tobias. The way she tolerated his touch, though the tension and fear were barely concealed in her eyes.

“Are you nervous to be traveling so far from home?” Raphael asked one day as they rode, Sara momentarily at his side while Tobias’ attention was elsewhere.

“No,” the girl said quickly, glancing back with a sudden look of apprehension – as if they hadn’t traveled far enough from Medes for her peace of mind. “I never want to go back there.”

“Is Tobias treating you well?” Raphael asked after a lapse.

She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. He’s been… gentle with me.” She blushed, her eyes dropping downward and not rising again.

Raphael felt an uncomfortable surging in his heart. “If he’s hurt you…”

“No! Nothing like that.” She bit her lip at the end of the statement, worrying at it between her teeth.

After a moment, Raphael tried again. “You’re not still having nightmares, are you?”

Sara looked up quickly, and the mask was momentarily gone. Her eyes were filled with lingering terror of the unknown, the agony of barely remembered pain, the distress of something which she didn’t know, couldn’t know, clawing at her memories but never quite becoming certainty.

Raphael reached for her hand, but Sara pulled away.

The Archangel looked elsewhere, speaking low. “My apologies.”

Sara rode hurriedly ahead. “I’d prefer you kept your distance,” she said crisply.

The mask didn’t leave her expression again for the remainder of the journey.

But Raphael heard her weeping every night long after everyone else had fallen asleep.

*****

“What did you do with the demon?” Michael asked, her words coming out in the rhythm of her fists against the training dummy.

Raphael leaned against the gym wall, declining to join the warrior in her workout, but content to report his trip to Earth in the informal setting. “I left him chained up in the desert. It’ll take him a while break free. Months most likely – unless his followers stumble upon him sooner. Plenty of time for Tobias and Sara to start their life.”

Michael scowled. “You should have brought him here. We might have used him.”

Raphael’s eyebrows rose. “You want to abduct a prince of Hell? Wouldn’t someone notice?”

Michael’s scowl deepened. “At least we’d have had some time with him. Once Hell gets wise to your trick, they’ll pay much more attention if one of their own goes missing again.”

Raphael shrugged. “I doubt you’d get much of anything out of Asmodeus. He’d probably try to seduce anyone who questioned him.”

Michael grunted and hit the dummy harder. “Demons. Filthy, lustful creatures. Base nature.” Her mumbled dropped lower, no longer for Raphael’s ears.

Raphael frowned, his thoughts drifting to the things the demon had said… the feelings he’d touched… The Archangel shuddered and forced the uncomfortable stirring away. “Do you really think we’re so different from them?”

“Of course.” Michael paused and looked at him with certainty. “The Fall did things to them. Gave them desires that we can’t feel. No one from our side would ever want…” She trailed off, grimacing with distaste. “That sort of thing is for humans and demons. Not us.”

“It didn’t used to be,” Raphael said hesitantly, half-remembered times from before the Rebellion coming to him. “We used to love.”

“Well, of course we _love_ ,” Michael said as if that was obvious. “It’s that other business. The physical nonsense. I wouldn’t want it. Would you?”

“No,” Raphael said slowly.

Michael resumed brutalizing the dummy. “So that’s it? Your mission’s all completed. The girl freed of demonic influence. The boy guided. The old man… what did you do for him?”

“His eyesight. I healed it. Once we’d returned to Nineveh.” 

Michael nodded. “It sounds like you were completely successful.” She paused, studying him closely. “So, what has you upset?”

Raphael hesitated, struggling to find words. “It’s Sara. She still dreams about what happened to her. Part of her remembers.”

Michael shrugged. “It’ll pass. Human minds aren’t like ours.”

“But it’s still there. What happened to her. She was… hurt. Repeatedly. And then that pain and memories were taken away from her.”

“A kindness, don’t you think?”

“But she didn’t choose that. She didn’t choose any of it. She doesn’t remember what happened to her, but she does remember. It affects her. But there’s no one to tell that to. No one who can understand.” His breath came out helpless and panting. “I couldn’t fix her.”

Michael came over to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “You weren’t sent to heal her. She wasn’t injured. Not really. Just some memories. They’ll go away.”

The warrior stepped back, giving him a friendly and concerned smile. “You did what was asked of you. That’s all any of us can do.” She headed for the door. “Getting rid of the demon was the important part,” she called over her shoulder. “The rest will take care of itself.”

Raphael stared after her, the helpless feeling Earth always seemed to bring out in him nearly overwhelming his senses. 

He returned to his work. Returned to angels who followed his every direction and trusted his every decision. He was the great healer of Heaven, after all. To him had been entrusted great responsibility and great knowledge with it. To him lay the tasks of solving the great maladies of humanity and beyond. He returned his eyes to the greater cosmic sphere, watching the universes from a distance of millions of miles and observing problems on a detached and distant level.

But he still heard Sara crying in the night.


	4. My Fallen Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael is called to heal a demon. More directions than that really would have been helpful. Thanks, Creator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this week's story was going to be Raguel's investigation, but that just keeps getting longer and longer. It may end up being a couple chapters total. Plus, 2021 is already turning out a lot like 2020, and I've been glued to the news for several days and not writing as much as I hoped. So, you get a much shorter, but frequently requested scene. Enjoy!
> 
> Character: Raphael, Crowley  
> Warning Tags: Post trauma

“You should be careful if you’re going in with the demon,” a guard informed Raphael as several armed individuals escorted the healer toward the cell. 

“Is he dangerous?” Raphael asked uneasily. 

The letter hadn’t been specific about anything. Just heal a demon located in Heaven. Raphael had thought that perhaps it was someone high-ranking – one of the princes of Hell, maybe. Perhaps injured and brought to Heaven, either by a sympathetic angel or their attacker. Someone whose healing could spell a turning point in the war. Someone who might be swayed to speak positively of Heaven, perhaps soothe rising tensions. 

**_‘My Fallen child has suffered long enough at Heaven’s hypocritical touch.’_**

Maybe that was meant generally? Heaven certainly hadn’t been as innocent as they’d claimed. They’d crossed more lines than they cared to admit. Maybe this didn’t refer to specific individuals in Heaven or Hell.

But Michael’s immediate ardent denial that she and Gabriel had done anything wrong uncomfortably suggested something specific and abhorrent.

What had happened? What did she mean by something more reliable than bribing? And what did she mean about conditioning?

“He must be dangerous,” the guard replied confidently, “the way Gabriel keeps him chained up in his office.”

Raphael’s soul lurched as the situation suddenly became something very different.

“But Gabriel lets him out on errands,” another guard countered. “He can’t be that dangerous.”

“He is,” the third guard insisted. “Sari told me he attacked a friend of hers.”

“And he spits venom!” the first added. “He’s done that to Gabriel.”

Raphael’s mind whirled. “How long has the demon been here?”

“A few months, I guess,” the second guard said uncertainly. “I don’t know how it started. There were rumors, and then Gabriel started walking around with the demon. But he said it was trained and wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

“But it’s still dangerous,” the first guard insisted. “The way he’s beat all to Hell half the time. It must be from attacking Gabriel.”

“Does it?” Raphael asked faintly.

“Has to be. Demons are vicious, right? The only way they learn is through force.”

“And they don’t feel pain the same way we do,” another guard added. “I heard the demon stabbed himself in front of a bunch of angels and didn’t react at all!”

Raphael listened doubtfully to the chatter. Even if only a fraction of it was true, their talk did follow some distressing patterns. Gabriel and Michael had had a demon captive for months and had apparently been using force against it. To the point that the demon now only responded to Gabriel.

Was it still violent? Would it attack anyone who wasn’t Gabriel? It probably wouldn’t believe simply being told Gabriel was dead. He’d need to show it. But what if it went after the corpse? Or other angels?

With that in mind, Raphael turned to the guards and asked about procuring some chains.

*****

The chains had been stashed away in the ether, and Raphael had heard another dozen ‘true’ stories about demons in general, and this one specifically, by the time he left the guards behind and entered the cell.

He hadn’t been certain what to expect.

A kneeling and unmoving figure absolutely drenched in blood was not it.

It wasn’t promising that the living demon looked worse off than Gabriel’s expired corpse.

Raphael circled cautiously, trying to make sense of what he was seeing beneath the blood, burns, and tightly folded wings. Those burns couldn’t be holy water, could they? Such systematic application implied torture, not defense against an attacker. And why did those scars on the demon’s back resemble words…?

Raphael’s soul clenched as the meaning became brutally clear. He wrenched his eyes from the scars, his gaze dropping lower…

…and what he saw further down was even worse.

He knew immediately what those signs of blood and trauma meant.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. _Stay calm,_ he coached himself. _Don’t react. Just… get the demon moved out of here. Somewhere you can do a proper assessment and decide how to proceed._

He drew the shackles out of the ether.

The demon was pliant at his touch, making no resistance as Raphael restrained his arms. 

_He’s probably used to it. That must be what the bars in his wings are for. Maybe he’s attacked with those…_

Wings followed arms. The demon’s breathing grew shallow and scared, although he continued to obey Raphael’s every nudge. 

Raphael took a firm grip on the leash and brought them elsewhere.

Gabriel’s body lay before them – stabbed, burned, and certainly deceased. 

The demon hunched as low as he could with his neck restrained, his eyes clamped shut.

Would he calm down when he saw Gabriel eliminated? Or attack? 

“Look straight ahead. And open your eyes,” Raphael prompted.

It took a minute.

The demon let out a tiny and terrified squeak, recoiling immediately. But not to run. Not to escape. To cower, to shrink.

Why was that his first instinct?

For several minutes, the demon glanced at Gabriel and away, growing more agitated with every passing moment. His wings rattled violently against the chain. His breath came out in small and wheezing pants.

Was it possible for him to pass out?

Raphael’s room wasn’t far. He just had to convince the demon to listen to him and come along quietly. Then he could assess the injuries.

If they were as bad as they appeared, he didn’t want to waste energy on teleporting. He’d need all of it for the battered creature.

What should he say? Comfort? Was he likely to be believed? The truth – that Gabriel wasn’t dead? What would that do to the already panicking being? Should he order? The demon was probably used to that. 

_Gabriel, what did you do? How could you? Please tell me there’s been some mistake…_

“You will come with me,” he found himself saying.

“Yes, Master,” the demon breathed, then cringed from him with a look of terror.

Master.

_Dear, Creator…_

Raphael found he was the one struggling not to collapse. Was that what the demon thought? What he expected and assumed? That someone standing over him in a position of authority… owned him?

_What have I done?_

Michael’s words - _Gabriel conditioned him. He’ll only listen to Gabriel._

This was how, wasn’t it? Gabriel had branded his name into the poor being’s flesh. Made it a slave.

And Gabriel was gone.

So the role fell to Raphael.

_Will he panic and run if I say I’m not? Will he even comprehend if I tell him he’s free?_

_Do I have to play the role?_

“Stand up.”

The demon struggled to comply. No surprise considering how long he’d been kneeling. Hours at least. 

Raphael set off walking in a daze, fighting to keep his expression neutral and his gait steady. He barely looked back at the reluctantly following demon. He couldn’t dare. He’d throw up or punch a wall if he did. His body was still hovering between the option.

His head was spinning madly by the time they reached his room. 

There was a hospital bed in the main room. He kept it there for when he had patients who needed constant monitoring. Perfect for this case.

He dropped the leash and nodded toward the alcove. “Rest.” His voice came out clipped and very unlike himself as he fought down the rising fury. “I’ll attend to you shortly.”

He fled the room. 

Outside, he schooled his expression to stony silence and strode through the halls. 

_Gabriel, what have you done? This must be a mistake. And Michael… you couldn’t have known…_

Except there was no explanation. It only took a glance to see the demon had been tortured – brutally and mercilessly. If he’d fought, it had been for survival. Even if he was a prisoner – brought here for heinous crimes against Heaven, there were laws. There were morals. 

Torture. Rape. Mutilation. This shouldn’t – _couldn’t_ factor into any form of justice. 

Fury hammered against his skull. It was everything he could do to keep walking, keep his appearance calm. Focusing on reaching Michael and demanding answers kept him from drowning in outrage.

It was only as he pushed open her office door that he realized he’d left the demon chained. 

He shuddered.

Another crime of Heaven against someone who couldn’t possibly deserve a fraction of it.


	5. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael and Crowley are invited to attend a party. Things go about as well as can be expected for the most socially aloof of Archangels and his damaged demon companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Reparations_ was entirely written (at least in decent draft form) by the time I started posting. Some things changed or were added thanks to readers' questions, but I refrained from adding entirely new chapters.
> 
> This was the one I most considered adding.
> 
> The initial prompt came with someone asking early on why Raphael didn't find some human souls for Crowley to interact with since he was so uncomfortable speaking to angels. And then quite a lot of people asked how the party Raphael and Crowley had been invited to had gone. This was the result.
> 
> I wrote most of this long before _Reparations_ finished posting and seriously debated trying to add it in because this story is relevant to Crowley's decision at the end to not live with Aziraphale full-time in Hell. But I didn't like the idea of slowing down the story with an additional chapter before we got to the shock revelations, and it made absolutely no sense as a flashback afterwards. Also, the last thing _Reparations_ needed was for Crowley to meet yet another calm and collected OC male character who understood him unlike everyone else. But, this is a separate story... so you get to meet Isidore because my attempts to replace him were unsuccessful. 
> 
> Isidore and Maria are the patron saints of farmers in Catholicism. I named the agrarian angel whom we saw briefly in _Reparations_ Yarylo after a minor fertility deity because I wanted a break from scouring list of angel names.
> 
> This takes place somewhere before Chapter 14 in _Reparations_. By this point, Crowley and Raphael are relatively at ease with each other, but not yet at a point where Crowley is really questioning his slave status. 
> 
> Characters: Raphael, Crowley, Isidore  
> Warning Tag: None, for once. Enjoy the peace.

What did one wear to a party of angels?

Extensive knowledge of Earth partying didn’t really help.

Crowley had been to many parties. The formal ones where everyone sat stiffly and prayed not to offend the host – especially if it was the kind of host who could yell, ‘off with their head!’ and mean it. The wild ones where clothing was optional and alcoholic overindulgence was a given. The intimate ones, the massive ones. The ones which ended with religious rituals, and the ones which ended in tears.

None of this helped him at all now.

Crowley sorted through the near-identical outfits his master had provided him and chose the one with the least dirt stains. All this pale clothing was so impractical. How was anyone supposed to keep clean without miracles?

He washed and trimmed his slowly re-growing hair into something which didn’t look quite so ragged. He slid his glasses into place, pushing them hard against the bridge of his nose. No chance he wanted those coming off in a room full of angels.

With a stomach full of butterflies, he trudged down the stairs in search of Raphael.

The Archangel was in his room in front of the mirror. He smiled when he saw Crowley kneeling in the doorway. “Come in if you’d like. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Crowley didn’t particularly want to enter any room containing both an Archangel and a bed, but he forced himself to climb to his feet and shuffle inside. He crossed his arms protectively across his torso, then let them drop to his sides. Concealing himself wasn’t allowed. Not until he knew what his master wanted to use him for…

He bit his lip and forced his mind back to his present situations. He wouldn’t be raped. Not by Raphael. Not ever. He was sure of that. And he’d been in the bedroom before with nothing bad happening.

Just… sometimes the memories seemed more real than the present. 

Raphael finished tying back his hair and turned to Crowley. “Ready to go?”

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Crowley asked without thinking.

Raphael glanced down at his attire – which was identical to what he wore most days around the estate. He shrugged. “If they wanted formal, they’d have said formal.” He gave Crowley a concerned look. “You’re sure you’re up for this?”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply with the automatic, ‘yes, Master’, but he hesitated. There was a funny expression on Raphael’s face. Slightly hopeful. As if…

“Do you want me to not be okay with going?” he asked with the start of a grin. “So you have an excuse to stay here?”

The Archangel’s eyebrows jumped. “Are you accusing me of attempting to go back on my promise to attend?” There was enough amusement in his tone to take any allegation from the words. 

Crowley shrugged. “I’ve listened to humans wriggle out of promises for thousands of years. I can come up with a much better excuse if you want.”

Raphael sighed dramatically. “No, no… I said I’d go. But, in all seriousness, you can stay if this feels like too much.”

Crowley studied his shoes. “I’ll go.” He nodded his head a few times. “I… I think it’ll be alright.”

He tried very hard not to think about where they were going as they took wing. 

Raphael’s wingspan was massive – one of those Archangel traits, Crowley supposed. He didn’t remember other angels having such broad and flashy wings.

No, don’t think about other angels. Just here and now. Much easier.

“Don’t Archangels have six wings?” he asked.

“We do,” Raphael replied, “but they’re a nuisance.” He quirked a grin in Crowley’s direction. “Did you want to see?”

At a nod, the angel arced upward and back-winged once. He poised, frozen, in the air for a moment, then two more sets of wings erupted in all their Heavenly glory.

The steady and gentle-natured healer was gone, replaced by one of the first-formed of Heaven in all his radiance. He shone with divine intensity, alight with the sheer power of one of the princes of Heaven. All six wings left blazing trails in the sky which whirled like fireworks on the breeze.

The vision was gone within seconds, replaced with the healer as Crowley knew him, now irritably arching his back. “That leaves me itching in the worst places,” he grumbled.

Crowley stared so hard that he lost altitude before remembering that flapping was required to stay airborne. “Wow… that’s…”

“Ostentatious,” Raphael finished for him. “Utterly useless except for formal ceremonies.” He tilted his head meditatively to the side. “Maybe that’s why I’ve never been fond of parties.” 

Crowley put a touch more distance between them, struggling to remind himself that this was still the same angel… just with a reminder that he did have smiting powers.

“We used to show them off more,” Raphael remarked. “Pure forms being more holy in Her sight or some logic like that.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“That we can thank Gabriel for. He got tired of filling out paperwork every time he accidentally burned out a human’s retinas and suggested we all scale back the ‘glorious appearings’.” 

“You are really bright like that,” Crowley observed, still blinking painfully behind his glasses.

“Uriel’s the worst. Radiant doesn’t begin to describe her. It’s like looking into the sun. At close range. While standing on another sun.” A distant and reminiscent grin rode on his face. “Well, the brightest was Samael…” 

Raphael’s expression turning abruptly pained. With a shudder, he flew onward in silence.

Crowley followed, his mind warring somewhere between guilt, sympathy, and wondering if Raphael had ever considered therapy for himself. 

*****

Crowley had second thoughts right around the second they landed and the angel he’d met in the orchard charged them with a squeal of, “Raphael! You came!” 

Maybe some angels held awe and respect for the princes of Heaven, but clearly not this cheerful individual who flung her arms around Raphael’s neck with unbridled delight.

Raphael blinked unsteadily. “Yarylo… Hello again.” His eyes met Crowley’s with a begging look for the demon to get him out of this.

Crowley shrugged helplessly.

The angel noticed Crowley after a moment. “And you came too!” She gave his arm a friendly squeeze. “I’m so glad you both made it.”

Crowley wasn’t sure if she hadn’t hugged him due to him being unknown to her, or him being a demon, but he decided to be grateful whatever the reason.

Yarylo seized Raphael’s arm and dragged him into the mess of angels. “Look who came!” she cried, drawing much too much attention to the red-faced Archangel and the nervous demon.

Crowley stared very hard at his shoes as far too many angels looked at him at once.

 _Don’t panic, don’t kneel, don’t cry, seriously don’t panic,_ he chanted in his mind.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up at Raphael.

The Archangel gave him a searching look of concern.

“I’m okay,” Crowley whispered, although he couldn’t quite make the tone sound believable. 

“You remember Alarid, right?” Yarylo asked, throwing her arms affectionately around a cherub in full armor. “Can you believe they made her a captain? It only took two thousand years for her to get the notice she deserves!”

“Yary,” the warrior protested with a self-effacing laugh.

Crowley stared very hard at the blessed weapons the angel wore and felt the room spin.

“I think the last time I visited, you were starting to build a garden of grain varieties?” Raphael said a little too quickly. 

“Started?” Yarylo laughed. “I finished that centuries ago. Do you want to see?”

“Crowley would be interested,” Raphael replied, giving the demon a small nudge. “He’s quite the gardener.”

“Are you?” The angel’s eyes were on him with new interest.

Crowley swallowed hard. The guileless look she gave him was grounding. As was the offered escape. He nodded jerkily.

“This way!” She caught him by the arm and towed him from the house.

Crowley breathed a gasp of relief as they broke into the open air and the noise of the party fell away.

Yarylo led him around the side of the house, chattering merrily. “I don’t know how you convinced Raphael to come, but thank you. I know it means a lot to Alarid to have him here. She would have lost a hind wing once if it hadn’t been for him. And we worry about the way he works nonstop and never gets out. We’ve invited him over but – you heard him – it’s been centuries since he took us up on an offer. Here we are… Isidore! You shouldn’t be working! There’s a party going on!”

They’d arrived at a tiered garden brimming with grains. Crowley had never been much of an observer of agricultural plants (he’d always gravitated toward fruit-bearing trees and ornamentals), but he recognized wheat, barley and dozens of maize varieties at a glance.

A very human-looking individual looked up at their approach. He rose and came forward, dusting the soil from his hands. He smiled affably at them. “Your friends are large and many, Yarylo,” he said softly. “It’s too much commotion and wings for me.”

Yarylo laughed. “I think he feels the same way.” She nodded at Crowley, her expression turning embarrassed. “I never asked your name, did I? I’m so sorry.”

“Crowley,” the demon replied.

She frowned. “That’s it? No multi-syllable extravagant name which makes babies weep and milk curdle when it’s spoken?”

“I tried getting a title of Darth Crowley added a couple decades back, but management wouldn’t go for it.”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Ah! You align with the dark side of the force?”

Crowley grinned. “It’s required in the job description. And you?”

“I prefer to follow a farm-child who discovers the universe is far larger and more mysterious than he ever dreamed.”

The angel looked between them. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. So, I’ll get back to the party. Can you show Crowley the garden, Isidore?” 

“It would be my pleasure,” the man assured her. He waited until she’d trotted off before turning to Crowley. “Come and see the testament to human ingenuity.”

The garden contained hundreds of grain varieties, laid out historically as to when they’d been cultivated and developed. 

“The earliest strand of maize barely contained seeds enough to make it seem worthwhile,” the farmer remarked, reaching out a hand to stroke a fat ear of corn. “And look what persistence and time has created.”

“So… you’re a human,” Crowley said slowly as they walked along a row of rice paddies. 

“And you’re a demon,” Isidore replied with a twinkle in his eye. “But let’s not let semantics ruin the tour.”

Crowley grinned. “I just wondered how you ended up working here.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I arrived in paradise centuries ago. It was lovely at first – no fear of starvation or persecution. Anything I might want available for the asking.” His smile turned rueful. “But, relaxation could only last so many years. I wanted purpose. And I wanted a place where I understood the work. Heaven is beautiful… but much of it is so very strange.

“And eventually I found my way here. I was a farmer on Earth, I’m a farmer here.” He smiled proudly at the end.

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d think… with endless possibilities, you’d want something different.”

Isidore nodded. “My wife felt that way. Her first desire was to learn to read. We were laborers, you understand. We had little chance for advancement. And then she wished to learn other languages. And the stories of other cultures. And all of history that she might discover.” He shook his head with an amused look. “800 years. Humanity continues to create. She continues to learn. When Maria last visited, she told me about the ‘internet’. She said it was becoming quite popular. It must be an intriguing way to spread knowledge and culture.”

“Mostly porn and cats, but it’s something,” Crowley agreed. 

Isidore smiled. “We’ll have it here one day. Until then, she brings me movies and books to keep me informed of humanity’s progress. She brought me a ‘Digital Video Disc’ player on her last visit.” He nodded in a proud way to himself. “She tells me the Star Wars films which I’ve so enjoyed now have a prequel which she’ll bring on her next visit.”

“You… might want to skip that bit of human progress,” Crowley muttered. He hurriedly changed the topic before the man could ask any questions. “So… you and your wife don’t live together anymore?”

“Not always,” Isidore said with a shrug. “Our interests take us in different directions. It doesn’t affect the love we feel for one another to follow our own paths.” His smile grew soft. “And when we’re together, we have a world of things so share.” He elbowed Crowley. “And passions build up, if you know what I mean.”

Crowley turned his head and concentrated very hard on a stand of sunflowers. But he found himself smiling a little wistfully. 

Their tour of the garden led them by a rambling path back to the house. Isidore halted as the sounds of conversation reached their ears. “Lovely to meet a fellow gardener and coinsure of the science fiction genre,” he said. “Do come and visit again.”

“If I ever make it back to Earth,” Crowley promised, “I’ll pick up some DVDs for you.”

The farmer’s eyes lit up. “Please do. Maria doesn’t always share my interest for adventures among the stars.” He gave his head a head a sorrowful shake. “And angels are far too caught up in the technical improbabilities. For beings capable of miracles, they have great difficulty believing in other entities performing the impossible.”

“Lack of imagination,” Crowley agreed. “Hell has the same problem.” He shuddered, feeling a sudden rush of phantom pain. “And the ones who do show some creativity… don’t always use it for the best purposes.”

With a final murmur of goodbyes, the human and the demon parted ways. 

The party had spilled from the house and onto the grounds outside. Angels turned their heads at the demon’s approach, studying him with puzzled and suspicious expressions.

Crowley shrank back, desperately wanting to lose himself among the grain stalks again. He wrapped his arms around his torso, willing himself to look as small and nonthreatening as possible.

“There you are. Good!” he heard Raphael call as the Archangel approached him.

Raphael’s voice sounded relieved, but Crowley detected a thread of annoyance which made his stomach lurch. Had he been gone too long? Had Raphael been looking for him? Was Raphael angry with him? 

“I’ve had enough of this party,” Raphael grumbled as he reached Crowley. “If I stay much longer, I think Yarylo’s going to try and set me up with a friend.”

The steadiness of the voice fell as a much-needed lifeline into Crowley’s trepidations. He clung fast to it, making Raphael’s problems the most important thing in his mind. “I could recommend an intimate restaurant?” he suggested with a tentative and shaky grin. “Or a romantic beach to stroll?”

Raphael visibly shuddered. “If you’re still having a good time, we can…”

“No!” Crowley winced as his loud and desperate response caused more heads to turn in his direction. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “We can go. Please.” His eyes rolled toward the curiously staring angels, unable to keep the tremors from assaulting his frame.

Raphael nodded. “I’ll make our excuses to our hosts.” He turned into the crowd.

Crowley stuck close on his heels, feeling more secure as the subservient and silent shadow of the Archangel than he did standing alone – even with a dozen angels pressed around him. Most of them were more interested in Raphael anyway.

Despite the crowd parting respectfully around the Archangel, reaching their destination was arduous since practically every angel felt it was essential to say something to Raphael, and the healer paused every time to reply politely before extracting himself from yet another unwanted conversation.

“Sometimes I forget why I avoid the Silver City,” Raphael grumbled as they flew away as swiftly as Crowley’s wings could manage. “And then I get a reminder of how very wonderful solitude is.”

Crowley faltered, losing altitude in a sudden rush of discomfort. 

Was he as bothersome to Raphael as all those angels? Was Raphael only putting on a polite face every time Crowley came to him because of another nightmare? Because of another rush of unreasonable fears? Would Raphael prefer their evening talks to end and never resume? Would he rather Crowley was as silent as Gabriel had trained him to be?

“Don’t get me wrong, I love it when my healers come to work and visit,” Raphael continued, apparently oblivious to Crowley’s turmoil. “And I love talking with my patients. I hear so many interesting stories that way. I love my work and love that involves meeting so many fascinating individuals. It’s just… so many at once, you know? It’s overwhelming and…” He sighed. “I shouldn’t complain. They all meant to make me feel welcome.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to be quiet and be invisible?” Crowley guessed hesitantly.

Raphael flashed him a smile. “Exactly. Thank you for following me into that particular lion’s den. It’s nice to have someone here I can talk to.” His expression changed to one of concern. “How are you feeling? Was that too much for you?”

Crowley studied the healer critically. Raphael didn’t view him the same way as those angels at all, did he? His welcome and kindness seemed so genuine. 

“It was… a lot,” he admitted. “I liked the gardens. I met someone there. A human. I’d… like to visit him again… if that’s allowed?”

Raphael’s look of concern vanished with a smile. “Absolutely. Just…” He lowered his voice. “…don’t let Yarylo suggest any angels I have to meet.”

“Deal.” 

As they alighted on the ground, Crowley hesitated and hung back. “Do you want me to go off for a while? Let you be by yourself?”

Raphael clapped a hand on his shoulder, the look of friendliness he gave the demon entirely genuine. “You,” he declared, “are never an unwelcome presence.”

Crowley grinned, a rush of warmth banishing any lingering distress. “It wasn’t a bad idea to go to the party,” he insisted. “It made those angels happy to see you.”

“True. Maybe I should get out once in a while.” Raphael headed for the door. “But I think we’re both glad to be home.”

Crowley halted, looking up at the rambling house. 

Home.

Far away from Hell. From Earth. From his car and his plants and that delectable wine shop around the corner from his flat and… other things.

He insides churned, his thoughts inexplicably rushing to Isidore’s confidence in speaking of his faraway, but still beloved, spouse. Distance and differing interests doing nothing to alter their love. Nothing to cool their romance or question their attachment.

It was nice to think about. Even if it hurt.

Crowley shoved the uncertainty down deep, concentrating on the kinder memories of the present. 

It hadn’t been a bad party. He’d seen a lovely garden. He’d met someone nice. No one had screamed at him.

And Raphael had said he was welcome.

Choosing the contentment of the moment over the unwillingly surfacing memories of the past, Crowley crossed the threshold and returned home.


	6. Raguel Investigates!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raguel is summoned to pursue justice in the business office of Heaven. And what she finds there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I posted one of these. I've been working on other things, and getting so frustrated with other stories that it seemed like a good day to type out Raguel's investigation. Or at least the first part of it. This is barely the first two weeks. She has a long and weary case ahead of her. This isn't my usual posting day or time, but I felt like putting something up. So, enjoy!
> 
> Characters: Raguel, Raphael, Mettatron, Hael, and many lions  
> Warning Tags: None

Raguel grunted in surprise as a weight hit her from behind and slammed her to the ground. She landed hard, the weight pressing relentlessly down on her. 

“I am an Archangel of the Lord and ought to be treated with devotion and respect at all times,” she grumbled, managing to twist her shoulders to look back at her attacker.

The lioness merely purred. She leaped lightly off the downed angel and sprang at a watching male lion. The bemused lion swatted at her with little malice and even less enthusiasm. 

The lioness ducked his clumsy swipe and hugged him around the neck.

Raguel remained on the ground. “Take it easy on him!” she called to the lioness. “He’s still settling in… Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she added to another lioness now nudging her with a concerned trill. 

“New pet, Lady Raguel?” a dry voice asked.

Standing several inches above Raguel’s front yard was the Mettatron.

Raguel refrained from making a face. There were millions of angels in Heaven, and a million personalities to go along with them. Some had fully embraced human tendencies; some had utterly rejected them. But none seemed so utterly rejecting of anything non-angelic as the Mettatron. Raguel didn’t think she’d ever seen it (and ‘it’ was the correct term) except when fulfilling its function. Did it just sit immobile at some celestial secretarial switchboard unless summoned by its maker or a supplicant? 

Raguel glanced at the male lion who’d chased away the female and now stalked huffily toward the forest. “He received an intersession. Someone thought he ought to have another chance.”

“You take a great deal of interest in justice for non-human charges.” 

Raguel rose. “They were made with specific instincts and for an intended purpose.” Her face darkened. “That humans destroy their homes and then cage the remainder for fear that others will destroy them entirely hardly means they should be held responsible when their instincts call for them to react one way to a situation – even if their instincts end in the loss of human life.” 

She stepped closer to her visitor. “But you didn’t come here because of my cats. What’s happened?”

The Mettatron extended a letter to her.

Raguel took it with sinking trepidations. Of course, she’d known the moment the messenger had appeared, but she could hold onto hope until now of this being a social call. Or at least one which wouldn’t require her _function_. 

“Raphael has been called as well,” the Mettatron said. “You’re to travel together.”

Raguel’s eyebrows rose. “Who’s the victim?”

The Mettatron vanished in a flare of light and whirling wings.

Raguel sighed and tore open the letter. Her face darkened as she read.

Vague, of course. The Creator was rarely anything but vague. Well, she’d learn everything when she found her murderer. And maybe Raphael had received better instructions. Maybe at least a few names to go on.

She stalked into the house, calling for her assistant.

A human soul, still so recently arrived as to look exactly as they had one Earth, answered her call. 

Humans and angels came and went from Raguel’s home, most only able to put up with her shouting and complaining for a century or two. She trained them in the fields of law and justice, then generally sent them on their ways to manage such subjects in Heaven and Earth.

To the surprise of many, Raguel’s domain was not a gathering place for the great judges and thinkers of Earth. The judges who reached Heaven were frequently beaten down from decades of railing against injustice. They were far more inclined towards and afterlife spent in gardening and pottery.

It was those who’d received no justice in life who learned eagerly at Raguel’s side. They hungered for knowledge and clarity, for bettering their own minds, and perhaps extending their knowledge to Earth, should they ever be granted the privilege of touching the still-living mind.

Even they, after a few centuries, often drifted away to other interests. 

Justice was a discouraging pursuit.

It was a pursuit Raguel sometimes thought she was fated to pursue alone. It wasn’t as if she could turn from her created function. 

Even if centuries of discouragement and disgust for the current trends of Heaven had caused her to retreat further from the main doings of Heaven.

Along with those seeking justice, sometimes souls found their way to Raguel for the other reason – an affection for lions. Word of Raguel’s pets drifted through Heaven, and sometimes a soul came this way to meet the angel who had taken in some of the downtrodden lions of Earth.

Raguel had lions who’d died starved and brutalized in the gladiator arenas. Lions shot on preserves so a human might pose for a photo with their foot upon its neck. Lions who’d mauled keepers and trainers and been executed for their confused nature.

Some were Heavenly creations as well – the first pair from Eden roamed her grounds. And several more were the products of human imagination and mythology which had been given so much substance and credulity over the centuries as to form into something of reality. Those were the fiercer of the lot – the ones who could and did spew flames or attack intruders with metallic claws. 

Even in Heaven, it was sometimes necessary to have a protector on hand.

The lions came and went, some fading into nothingness as their desire to dwell in the afterlife dwindled. Some had bonded with other angels or human souls and left Raguel’s home. Some had grown wild, vanishing into the woods and ranging at their pleasure.

Raguel did nothing to keep them contained or restrained. They belonged with her if they chose, and moved on with equal choice.

That was the justice she could give those who’d been caged in life.

The only human soul currently living with her was fortunately there for the lions and had arrived in tandem with her most recent feline companion. Raguel had a quick talk with them regarding the care and feeding of the charges and how uncertain a timetable she had regarding her return. 

Those concerns dealt with, the justice of Heaven took wing.

 _The Creator might be all-wise and all-knowing,_ Raguel thought with a silent grumble, _but **Her** message-writing leaves something to be desired._

A murder had taken place. Or would take place. No word of who the victim or perpetrator were. Or where to find the body besides instructions to head for the business office. Nothing but a cryptic declaration that the murdered party was not an innocent one. 

Not a lot to go on.

Not that it mattered. Detailed message or vaguely worded memo, Raguel would go where she was sent.

She was the vengeance of the Lord. The justice of Heaven. 

She would not be swayed from her function.

She soon spotted Raphael flying her way and swallowed down the relieved smile. It was nice to not be alone in this mission, but it would ruin her callus reputation to say so.

Raphael’s missive was equally vague. Head to the main area, and then…

…heal a demon?

Raguel felt a sinking feeling in her soul.

Something told her this would not be an easy assignment. 

*****

Raguel had an office in Heaven’s main complex, although she almost never used it. She’d miracled the dust away the moment she’d entered, but she couldn’t shake the longing for her home office. Her home office was a huge room – all old wood and stone. Fireplace, massive desk to spread her work out on, bulletin boards, and a thin layer of lion hair covering everything. Missing it kept her from missing was she was really longing for – the certainty that Heaven would never consider the kind of atrocities it was apparently capable of. 

Her mind was a whirl brought on by the rapid changes of thought and movement.

First, there had been Michael’s odd and unhelpful behavior.

Second, a one-angel attack upon Heaven which had gotten disturbingly far past the escalator considering how many guards there had been opposing a single angel.

Third, a bewildering torrent of messages arriving in Michael’s office regarding a troubling amount of property damage which couldn’t have had anything to do with the one angel at the door.

Fourth… what Raphael had found.

She was still trying to organize her mind into a plan of action when Raphael entered the office.

The healer threw a clipboard onto the desk with none on his usual care and dropped heavily into a chair. His head dropped into his hands, his eyes vanishing behind his palms.

Raguel picked up the clipboard.

She read the notes twice before she spoke. “There’s no chance you misinterpreted or exagerat-”

“No,” Raphael said shortly. “That’s every injury the de… _Crowley_ had.”

Raguel’s eyes didn’t leave the notes. “You say some of these scars are years old?”

“A year at least. Maybe two.” Raphael leaned back in the chair. “Was there any assessment done of his condition _before_ the torture began?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only sealed Gabriel and Michael’s offices so far. I haven’t started examining their files yet.”

Raphael rose and paced. “I don’t understand…”

“Maybe this principality… what’s his name…?” Raguel hunted through her notes. “Aziraphale. They were adversaries. Could he have caused the wounds?”

“Michael said they were believed to be romantically involved.”

“Maybe the demon’s a masochist.”

“He doesn’t act like it.” Raphael halted, his hands braced on the back of the chair. “The brand. The one with Gabriel’s name – it was too healed over to have been done in the past two months.”

“You’re saying the demon was branded as Gabriel’s property _before_ he arrived in Heaven?”

“He had to have been… but it doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Raguel agreed. She watched Raphael critically. “Are you alright?”

Raphael let out a breath. “He’s covered in layer upon layer of injuries. There’s not a single part of him that hasn’t been damaged. I could _feel_ the pain just _radiating_ off him. And he expects worse at any second. You can see it in how he moves. There’s no hope left – just certainty of more torture.” His hands bit into the wood. “And I’m the one he’s calling ‘master’ and cowering from.”

Raguel kept her face neutral. “He is a tempter,” she suggested carefully. “Is there a chance he’s playing-”

“No,” Raphael said sharply. “I don’t believe that. This isn’t manipulation. It’s survival instinct. _Trained_ survival instinct. He was taught to crawl. Taught to expect the worst from an angel. His reaction to Gabriel… it wasn’t relief. It was terror to just _look_ at him.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Try to stay calm and assess the damage. Beyond that…?” Raphael shook his head a little helplessly. “I’ll leave that up to Crowley for the moment.”

“Raphael,” Raguel said with as much tact as she could – which was never much. “Don’t forget it’s a demon. Don’t let your guard down.”

Raphael’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but still sparked angrily. “He’s our Creator’s child by **Her** own assessment. Maybe I…” He bowed his head. “Yes, I assumed he’d be violent. Maybe… gleeful to see Gabriel gone. But that’s not what I’m seeing. I’m not going to continue acting like he’s a threat just because of what he is! I was called to help him. That’s what I’ll do.”

*****

“You! Yes, you, Archangel-justice-being!”

Raguel froze in stride, turning uncertainly as an angel stormed toward her.

Of the many ways she’d been addressed over the centuries, this was new.

The angel halted well within Raguel’s personal bubble. “ _When_ am I going to see justice?!” she demanded.

Raguel found herself taking an instinctive step back (she prided herself in never being the one to back down). “Excuse me?” she asked unintelligently.

“I’ve sent repeated messages! You’re finally here, and you haven’t been near the library yet!”

Oh. A book-angel. Yes, they were all crazy, weren’t they?

Raguel felt slightly better now that she had the angel slotted into a category. And she could guess the problem. The armory and the tech lab had been trashed and were still being catalogued for stolen objects. Clearly the library had had a similar occurrence. “I’m still working through all the messages I’ve received since arriving. If you’ll leave everything as is, I’ll…”

“My messages should be at the TOP of your pile,” the angel declared. “I contacted you weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Raguel asked blankly.

The librarian pursed her lips. “MUST I repeat the contents of my letters?!”

“You probably should,” Raguel mumbled, unwilling to admit that she hadn’t bothered reading any such messages.

The angel squinted at her as if she was fully aware of Raguel’s lapse and judging her for it. “Someone has been removing books… and not returning them to their proper places!!”

Raguel managed to stifle a smile. “Surely, general use of the library would result in…”

“Not MY library,” the angel declared. “I know PRECISELY where the books belong and EXACTLY how they are situated. I know EXACTLY who has visited the library and WHICH books they’ve been permitted to touch. Books no one has requested have been moved.” Her voice dropped. “Books I wouldn’t allow just anyone to examine. Not considering their contents.”

Raguel still struggled not to smile. “Maybe someone looked at them while you weren’t watching.”

The librarian’s expression hardened to something as impenetrable as a diamond. “I’m ALWAYS watching. No one could take those books without my knowledge. I’ve redoubled my vigilance. I’ve paroled the shelves ceaselessly. And it has still happened TWICE more.” 

Raguel turned her head to hide her rolling eyes. “I’ll look into it,” she said in a gruff tone which hid her laughter.

Some angels just couldn’t face their mistakes. They had to find some outside source to blame…

“Good,” the librarian growled. Her voice took on a level of absolute fury. “If I get my hands on whoever…”

Raguel smiled as she resumed walking the opposite direction. She sobered quickly, putting the incident out of her mind.

She had real issues to deal with.

*****

Raguel had expected resistance. Especially considering the way that Michael had hidden behind of shield of ‘classified’ when first questioned. Raguel expected the same reluctance now.

That the technicians proudly – _proudly_ – pulled out the prototype collars and gleefully described the mechanics from the theoretical through the practical in minute details was helpful… and absolutely horrifying.

“A lot of this is still theoretical,” Hael the head technician explained, cheerfully spreading out his notes and babbling in the rapid and eager manner of someone who so rarely had the ear of anyone outside his field that he was practically tripping over himself to show off his passion project. “We’re certain that level seven and above can cause discorporation, but of course it would be a waste of a demon to experiment with that. We’ll need more demons first. So we can run multiple tests to get a standard baseline for how long a demon should be left at each level.”

“And we need to improve the levels we’ve already programed into the collar,” another technician added. “Level eight is supposed to be completely debilitating, but Gabriel confirmed that the demon can still inflict injury upon itself at that level, so we’ve been recalibrating the collars to better immobilize the subject.”

“It’s a shame Michael won’t bump us higher on the priority list,” Hael grumbled. “She’s more concerned with getting the demon _out_ of the collar and on to phase two rather than letting us use it for testing the collars. We’ll still be working on theoretical only until the next batch of demons is brought in.”

“Next batch?” Raguel asked, managing to keep her voice neutral.

Hael nodded rapidly. “It’s no good just having the one for testing tech on. Especially with Remiel’s half of the project getting priority.” He grumbled for a time about the disrespect afforded to engineers before getting back on track. “Once the first demon can be used to lure more demons to retrieval points, we’ll be allowed more subjects to work with.”

Raguel stared. “How many are you planning to… work with?”

“Fifty minimum,” Hael replied blithely. “We asked for two hundred, but you know how unreasonable Archangels can be.” He rolled his eyes. “Worried about word getting down to Hell if we discorporate too many subjects.” He scoffed with a shake of his head. “No proper scientific minds on the celestial council. As if demons even had the capability to care about one another or would even _believe_ some demon going on about being discorporated by Heaven. It would probably just get punished for losing a body and no one would ever know.”

“You are aware that Michael’s been arrested, aren’t you?” Raguel asked after another hour of the technological horror show in which Hael revealed all the potential weapons he and his fellows were anxious to try out as soon as they had more test subjects.

“Yes, because of the security breach,” Hael replied in a dismissive tone. “I’ve warned her about that. We have so many better options that just stationing guards at the gates. But will she listen? No. Just tells me to focus on my own field.” He fell back to bitter muttering.

“You’re not at all concerned?”

“Because of the security breach in the lab?”

“Because you’re facilitating acts of torture!”

Hael’s expression clouded briefly with confusion, then cleared with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s Archangel-approved. There was an oversight committee and everything. We’re not taking up resources which would be better utilized elsewhere. And our work is considered priority for the war.”

“I meant morally.”

Hael once more looked briefly confused, then dismissed the accusation. “It’s just demons. They don’t count.”

She shouldn’t have played her cards the way she did, Raguel knew. She should have remained objective, given no sign of where she fell on the moral argument. But there was no argument to be had. No matter how long she prompted Hael toward any hint of wrongdoing, any suggestion that his actions had been morally reprehensible, he answered with the same arguments.

_The Archangels said it was acceptable. It was only a demon. They’d do the same to us. We were just following orders._

Conviction. Absolute, secure conviction.

Hael looked entirely confused when she led him off to jail.

*****

“It’s like the crusades all over again,” Raguel moaned to Raphael as she slumped in her office, massaging her forehead with one hand and wondering when she’d learned to get headaches.

Cases came to her from time to time regarding where souls belonged after death. Souls who’d appealed their sentence to Hell in such screaming righteousness as to reach Raguel’s ears.

The crusades had been a particularly terrible time.

“We were marching with the blessing of the church! Our actions were sanctioned and holy.”

“You killed innocents. Lots of innocents.”

“The priest absolved of all crimes!”

“ _Before_ you’d even committed them?”

“Yes. From that moment onward, all our actions were holy in the eyes of the Lord!”

“And you used that as a justification for war crimes!”

She’d never gotten through to them either. 

Occasionally she’d wondered if the demons had had better luck making them understand their guilt.

Somehow, she didn’t think asking a demon or two to come up and torture Heaven’s tech department would have a positive result.

After the tech department, she’d called in a squadron of guards who’d been stationed so far out in Heaven for the past century that she didn’t think Michael had had any recent influence on them. They’d relieved the city guards of their duties, the lot of which were now confined to barracks until Raguel could sort through them. The tech department was also under ‘house arrest’ until she performed interviews.

She’d just finished arresting Remiel and her team. 

Remiel had been quite the opposite of Hael – in that she’d been fully aware of what this was about when Raguel approached and fully defiant that she’d done nothing wrong.

The screaming, back-against-a-wall defiance which implied plenty of doubts which she wasn’t ready to admit to.

Raguel tried not to let her gratitude for Raphael’s steady and comforting presence show too much when he’d appeared in her office to check on her.

Inwardly she cursed to reveal her emotional state faster than a suspect could break. _Only for Raphael,_ she thought. 

“How’s your patient?” she asked quickly for fear he’d start asking more questions about her mental health and that she’d admit to more feelings than she wanted to acknowledge. 

Raphael smiled absently. “Adjusting to being without the collar may take a little while. I think I’ll take him to the hospital this afternoon. Give him something else to think about.”

Raguel stared at him in stunned horror. “You took his collar off?!”

“Yes,” the healer replied placidly.

“Why?”

“He’s started moving around on his own finally. I thought he’d calmed down enough that he could handle another change.”

“No, I mean _why_? What if he escapes or… tries to murder everyone in Heaven?”

Raphael looked up, his expression mild. “First off, I don’t think he will. Second, that’s his choice, isn’t it?”

“Choice?!” Raguel sputtered.

“Yes. He can’t escape, really. He’s not a prisoner, so there’s nothing to escape _from_. It would be perfectly within his rights to leave if he chose.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, I believe his slave mentality is too ingrained for that occur to him.” 

“And the danger to everyone else?” 

Raphael leaned forward and stared intently at Raguel. “If you’d been abducted and abused, wouldn’t you feel it was within your rights to seek revenge?” He waited a moment, then spoke when Raguel didn’t answer. “I’m not going to take that choice from him.”

“I’m alerting the guards.”

“That’s your choice.”

*****

The worst part about meeting as a full council was not knowing who to trust.

A part of Raguel screamed to arrest the lot of them and sort out everyone’s culpability from within an interrogation room. 

Except… she’d have to arrest herself in that case.

Because she had known what Michael was planning… in the broadest strokes.

Her own guilt was mostly inaction. The centuries of council meetings which she’d largely skipped. The dismissive attitude she’d had toward the running of Heaven.

She hadn’t liked the direction Heaven was going, so she’d ignored the direction Heaven was going.

And now she was sitting at the head of a table of five Archangels, none of whom would look the others in the eyes.

Well, Raphael at least was trying to give her an encouraging smile. 

It was comforting to have him there. One person who was innocent of all this.

Or… at least only as guilty as she was.

The other three…?

Jophiel and Zadkiel were properly bewildered and alarmed. Dug out of their own Heavenly-management concerns, they’d admitted reluctantly to being aware of Michael and Gabriel’s plan – even claiming to have had some qualms. But the Creator hadn’t objected. So that made it fine, didn’t it?

Demons were the enemy. They didn’t deserve mercy. Rules of fair conduct didn’t apply to them.

Except, apparently, they did.

And at least two of the ruling council were willing to roll with that news and hurriedly change their viewpoints.

Uriel… was hiding something.

But, frankly, Raguel was tired of stuffing the inadequately sized jail and listening to sickening justifications.

So, while the justice of Heaven continued to haul in Gabriel’s assistants and personally picked team of torture associates, the other possibly guilty Archangel was getting at least a temporary free pass.

It wasn’t justice, Raguel knew with a guilty stab.

But she was just so tired after barely a week of this. 

She just wanted to pretend, even if it was only for the length of this one meeting, that there were still a few beings in Heaven who would never consider supporting atrocities committed against one who’d once been one of their numbers.

*****

“You went to Mexico?!” Raguel stared in bewildered exasperation at Raphael. Inwardly, she knew she was upset about the investigation and that taking it out on Raphael was wrong. But it was hard to stop the eruption of emotions.

Especially when confronted with Raphael’s unwavering, and insufferable placidness.

“Yes. Adnarel wanted to consult with me about the situation he’s been combating there,” Raphael confirmed.

“And what did you do with the… patient?” 

Raphael’s expression turned sad. “He had a rather dull day, I’m afraid. I’ll have to make it up to him.”

Raguel rolled her eyes. Clearly Raphael wasn’t going to take any hints. “What’s he been telling you about Gabriel?”

“Nothing.”

“He’s not talking?”

“I haven’t asked him anything.”

Raguel closed her eyes. “We’re investigating war crimes. That involves interviewing everyone involved.”

“No.” The healer’s expression stayed steady, but a hard note came to his voice. “You’re investigating. My purpose is to look after my patient.”

Raguel’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning until he’s ready to talk about what happened, I’m not going to ask.”

“And what if he never feels like talking?”

“That’s his choice.”

The detective hissed angrily. “I need to know his story. I’m investigating this incident and that requires speaking to everyone. Especially him. Give me access to him.”

“No,” Raphael replied evenly.

“This is my function,” Raguel growled.

“He’s not under your jurisdiction,” the healer replied. “As you’ve noted repeatedly, he’s a demon. He doesn’t answer to Heaven.”

“At the moment, he thinks he does. Excellent time for me to order him to tell me everything.”

“At the moment his psyche is shattered. I won’t risk his health for your satisfaction.” Raphael rose and headed for the door.

“We’re not through discussing this!” Raguel snapped.

“Yes, we are.”

*****

In the morning, Raguel found a note on her desk.

_‘I’ve taken Crowley back to my estate. I will contact you if I am authorized to relate any information to you. Please refrain from social calls until then.’_

Raguel crumpled the note with a frustrated snarl.

She tried not to admit that the loss of Raphael hurt more than the loss of her star witness.


End file.
